

LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, 


Shelf Jdjt 


















































































































































* 







































• • 




















JPtiokcimo ©bittou 



•A 

ia° % 

»4 m^V *£. a Cu-efA^J^ 

‘P«aw(iX^"efc r eiL. y*i, 

^hOZS^ ^-0 CftK^J 


Copyright, 1883, by Harpeb & Brothers 



“THE GIANT OF THE MONTHLIES.” 


Harper’s Magazine lias been called “ one of tlie indispensables.” I 
brings monthly a fresh store of entertainment and instruction for ever; 
member of the household. 

Its serial and short stories, its poems, essays, and richly illustrated arti 
cles v cover every subject of interest in travel, biography, history, literature 
art, and industry. 

The circulation of Harper’s Magazine has always been greater tha 
that of any other periodical of its class in America; while in England i 
has outrun all the English magazines of its price. 

Its large subscription list enables the publishers to make liberal arrange 
ments for all that is best in literature and art. Notable novels are firs 
printed in its pages as serial stories. The most brilliant writers of A meric 
and Europe, in every department of letters, are its contributors, while it 
illustrations are the best work of the most skilful artists and wood-engra\ 
ers of our time. Many thousands of dollars are paid every month for thj 
pictures alone. 

The editorial departments keep the readers of the Magazine abreast c 
the age in every human interest. The “Easy Chair” chats wisely and wittil 
of subjects on which everybody is thinking ; the “ Historical Record ’’ give 
a comprehensive summary of the world^s progress; the “Literary Record 
presents a critical review of current literature; and the “Drawer,” wit 
its exhaustless supply of good stories, is a source of perpetual amusemen 

The price of the Magazine is only four dollars a year. A like variety cl 
equally good literary and art work cannot be bought in the form of book 
for many times that sum. 

SUBSCRIPTION PRICE, - - - $4 00 per Year. 

HAEPEE & BEOTHEES, Franklin Square, New York. 


CONTENTS 


CIIAI*. TAGE 

I. altiora’s first.problem 5 

n. ALTIORA SOLVES THE PROBLEM 12 

III. THE CALIFORNIANS 23 

IV. THE FINANCIAL TRIUMVIRATE 31 

V. SARK AND “ THE CLYMER ” 37 

VI. ALTIORA CAPTURED BY THE CALIFORNIANS 44 

VII. MRS. CLYMER MEANS MISCHIEF 50 

VIII. RONALD MACALPINE’S KELTIC ENTERTAINMENT ... 58 

IX. STELLA’S CONFIDENCES 66 

X. MR. MURKLE MAKES A DOUBLE PROPOSAL 72 

XI. A PASSAGE OF ARMS 79 

XII. FLIGHT AND PURSUIT 87 

• XIII. THE DUCHESS OF BEAUCOURT 94 

XIV. BEAUCOURT CASTLE 100 

XV. THE EARL ,OF SARK AT BAY 107 

XVI. A LITTLE FASHIONABLE CONVERSATION 116 

XVII. LADY ADEL A DASHINGTON 122 

XVni. SOME PROPOSALS AT A PICNIC 127 

XIX. KEITH HETHERINGTON’S SOLUTION OF THE PROBLEM . 133 

XX. THE BARONESS MAKES A DISCLOSURE 140 

XXI. STELLA COMES TO THE RESCUE 147 

XXII. MATTIE IN AN INQUIRING MOOD 151 

XXIII. MORAL AND CHEMICAL EXPLOSIVES 157 

XXIV. MR. MURKLE PAYS A VISIT 165 

XXV. MRS. CLYMER PLOTS REVENGE 169 

XXVI. HANNAH’S TOILET 175 


4 


CONTENTS. 


CHAP. PAGE 

XXVII. IIANNAII EXPOUNDS TO TIIE CURATE 180 

XXVIII. THE EFFECTS OF AN EXPLOSION 186 

XXIX. MRS. CLYMER MEETS A MAN AND A “BROTHER” . .192 

XXX. NURSING UNDER DIFFICULTIES 197 

XXXI. nANNAH HEARS SOMETHING TO HER ADVANTAGE . . 203 

XXXII. MR. COLLINGS PERFORMS A DELICATE DUTY. . . . 208 

XXXIII. TIDE PARTY AT KILLBOGGIN 215 

XXXIV. MR. MURKLE FEELS THAT HE IS A VICTIM .... 220 

XXXV. THE BARON AND BARONESS SUCCUMB TO CIRCUM- 
STANCES 227 

XXXVI. A JOINT CONFESSION 232 

xxxvii. altiora’s last words 237 



ALTIORA PETO 


CHAPTER I. 
altiora’s first problem. 

Mamma wants to know what I am always scribbling — if sbe were 
a more sympathetic person I shouldn’t always scribble — I should 
pour my heart out into her confiding bosom instead of upon blank 
sheets of paper; but it is not possible to feel one’s self bursting with 
thoughts without giving thorn expression in words. If they are not 
spoken ones, they must be written ones. I have always had a 
strong impression that I should have found a congenial nature in 
the late Mr. Peto — I mean papa — who died before I was born, and 
who was a profound but eccentric philosopher, with a quaint vein 
of humor, of which, indeed, I am the victim; for his dying request 
to mamma was that, if I was a girl, I should be called Altiora — thus 
making me the subject of a gentle pun, that will stick to me till I 
die, or marry. It was a sort of moral legacy which he left me in 
default of anything more substantial — a perpetual reminder that I 
was to soar ; and then he peacefully passed away, “from waste of 
nervous tissue ” — at least, that was what mamma says the doctors 
called it. They might as well have said protoplasmic' decay, or, 
simpler still, “want of breath,” as far as. any real apprehension of 
the matter on their part went. 

I have a great many odd feelings about papa : one is that I am 
morally convinced that the whole of my character is affected by the 
fact of his having died prior tf5 my birth. Although I am not a 
Spiritualist, I have an indefinable consciousness that he has, in con- 
sequence, been able to exercise an occult influence over me from the 
first moment of my existence, which would not have been possible 
had he remained in the flesh. One of my earliest recollections is 
overhearing mamma say “that I was the strangest child !” — that she 
couldn’t make me out — that I was old-fashioned. It made an im- 
pression upon me at the time. I must have been about five then, 
and I have been thinking over it ever since, until it has acquired the 


6 


ALTIOBA PETO. 


force of a positive certainty — that, in a sort of way, if I may venture 
so to express myself, I am pervaded by his essence, and -that, both 
morally and intellectually, his spiritual nature, in some subtle man- 
ner, is constantly operative within me. I suppose that is why I have 
so little sympathy with other girls. In the first place, life does not 
seem to present them with any problems ; they believe everything 
they are told, take everything as it comes, see no contradictions 
anywhere, and do not seem haunted by the standing obligation 
which has been laid upon me to “seek higher things.” They 
grovel. I don’t wish to seem uncharitable — but they really do, and 
are content. To me life is a perpetual enigma, to which no theo- 
logical system offers a satisfactory solution— against the reefs of 
which all philosophies break into foam and empty bubbles. Though 
I am scarcely nineteen yet, I could have hopelessly puzzled either 
the Archbishop of Canterbury or Mr. Herbert Spencer when I was 
ten. It was at that early age, when subjected to youthful struggles 
in regard to the claims of what was called my “conscience,” that 
I first became alive to the perplexing questions arising out of the 
nature and composition of what was called my “will.” And to this 
day I can give no satisfactory definition of the word “freedom” in 
connection with it ; but then I am still very young. Perhaps if I 
had arrived at some conclusion I should know better what to do 
about Mr. MacAlpine. We" have taken a cottage in the Highlands 
for the season, and Ronald MacAlpine is the younger brother of 
Lord MacAlpine, from whom we have rented it. We have seen a 
great deal of each other during the last three weeks ; and his con- 
stant presence suggests a problem that other girls seem to have no 
difficulty about. I have never experienced the sensation before, but 
I feel no moral doubt that I am in love. To me love is a puzzle, to 
them it is a pleasure. I don’t mean to say that there is not a good 
deal of pleasure in it, but that makes the puzzle all the more annoy- 
ing. What is it ? Where does it come from ? Did it first come 
from him or from me ? I don’t like going headlong into a thing 
without knowing a little more about it. Shall I go this afternoon 
and take a sketch on the beach, where he will, in the most promis- 
cuous and accidental manner, certainly go for a stroll ? He has 
found out the quiet corner where the rocks are so picturesque, but 
he does not go there unless he sees me, because he says they’re 
nothing without a bit of color in the foreground. So I think I shall 
escape him by putting on my black dress, because I really ought to 
finish my sketch. 

Let me analyze. First, there is no necessity to finish the sketch. 
What was it in me that tried to humbug me with a pretence of 


ALTIORA PETO. 


1 


duty ? Second, I should not avoid him by dressing in black, and I 
knew it when I internally proposed it. Evidently the same influence 
with the same malign intent. Third, and still more subtle, when he 
came I could pretend that, by not wearing color, there would be no 
attraction in the foreground and that therefore I wanted to avoid 
him, when I really did not, and that I was surprised to see him, when 
I really was not ; in other words, false assumption of maiden modesty. 
I don’t exactly know the definition of coquetry, but I should say this 
was a near approach to it, and must be resisted. It is evident there 
is a strong impulse acting on my will to go and meet him. I sup- 
pose it is the force of attraction. If so, what is the nature of the 
force? Is it magnetic? And how does it operate on my will in 
such a manner as apparently to paralyze it? and then what becomes 
of its so-called freedom? I suppose if I. was to tell the learned per- 
sons who talk about waste of nervous tissue that I found Mr. Mac- 
Alpine a highly magnetic individual, they would reply, “Pooh, pooh, 
my dear young lady ! don’t use unscientific terms — you’re in love, ” and 
consider that a scientific explanation. But I suppose love is a force, 
just as, I am told, light and heat are, and may be made of molecules, 
for all they know to the contrary. I wonder why they cannot sub- 
ject it to scientific analysis? It has a very distinct effect on the cir- 
culation of the blood, that is certain, or my heart would not beat so 
when I see what I suppose I must call “ the object of my affections” 
in the distance. No doubt, when he perceives the bit of color he is 
looking for on the beach the same thing happens to him, and yet he 
has never uttered a word which betrayed his feelings. Hitherto we 
have discussed principally the beautiful nature by which we are 
surrounded, from a philosophic and aesthetic point of view. We 
have discoursed on the science of taste and its possible refinements 
with our lips, while our hearts seemed to be saying something quite 
different. I don’t know how, but they have. The worst of it is, 
that this silent language is quite irrepressible. Just when my 
countenance is most impassive and my mind most concentrated in 
its attempt to grasp the ideas of my companion, that rebellious organ 
seems to bawl its unspoken language the most loudly. Probably 
here, again, it is the same with him. This arises, I presume, from 
what we termed “the hidden laws of sympathy,” whatever they 
may be. 

I have just come back from the beach. I went there deliberately 
— or, in other words, because I could not help it ; I was drawn. So 
I did not go through the farce of pretending that I was either sur- 
prised or annoyed when I saw Ronald appear. I call him Ronald 
now — not, of course, to his face, but to myself. He is tall, dark, 


8 


ALTIOUA PETO. 


and in liis Highland dress looks the beau-ideal of a Scottish chief. 
I am afraid, even if he had not been so very clever and agreeable as 
he is, I should still have liked him on account of his tout ensemble. 
Why this mysterious sentiment, which I am now experiencing for 
the first time, should depend so much upon the accident of external 
appearance, is another puzzle. Can it be possible that so deep a 
passion can really have any connection with clothes and color, or 
that I should have felt differently toward him in trousers ? 

We were both slightly embarrassed when we met thus “acci- 
dentally on purpose,” as it were, to use a somewhat slang expres- 
sion ; and yet I don’t know why we should have been — there was 
nothing to be ashamed of. I became internally indignant, and con- 
scious of a strong instinct of maidenly reserve struggling with a 
self-assertion which I take to be nearly allied to woman’s rights. 
Of course I don’t know what emotions were contending in him, but 
he looked decidedly nervous, and I think I became uncomfortable 
sympathetically. 

“How do you like the bit of color in the foreground ?” I said ; 
and I showed him his manly form arrayed in a bright red kilt of 
his own tartan, which I had just painted in. 

“You do me too much honor, Miss Peto,” he replied, and his face 
for a moment reflected the tints of his garment. “I should much 
prefer to have seen you there ; but the omission may easily be 
remedied,” he added, timidly; “there’s room enough on the beach 
for both of us, you know.” 

As this was an obvious truism, I proceeded to put myself in at 
the opposite corner of the picture, with my back to him. “All 
pure coquetry,” I said to myself as I did so, “or else a degree of 
shyness amounting to insincerity.” Why should modesty make 
one dishonest ? I should have liked to paint us in the attitude of 
Millais’s picture— he holding my face between his two hands, and 
looking lovingly down into my eyes, while I looked tenderly up 
into his. 

He was looking over me as I was thinking thus, when he said, 
suddenly, “I know what your thoughts are, Miss Peto.” 

“Do you?” I said, calmly, again forcing myself to lie horribly 
by the cool indifference of my face and manner, for I was in an 
internal agony of agitation and alarm lest the quickness of his sym- 
pathy should have actually divined what was passing through my 
mind. 

“Yes,” he said. “You think my remark impertinent, and this 
is how you are rebuking it.” 

“On the contrary, I thought what you said very natural. Why 


ALTIORA PETO. 


9 


should we not both be on the beach in the picture, since we are 
both upon it in fact?” 

“Yes; but we seem to have quarrelled in the picture, and we 
have not in fact. Do you know how I should like to be painted ?” 
and he gently but firmly took my hand and pressed it to his lips. 
Of course I should have liked to let him keep it, so I snatched it 
away, and suddenly began to tremble very violently. This shows 
how utterly incapable the will is, under certain circumstances, to 
control the organism. The hatred and contempt I felt for my own 
body at that moment was indescribable. Why should it possess a 
power of humiliating me at a time when all my feminine instincts — 
which, I suppose, are my noblest — made me wish to disguise my real 
feelings toward him ? On the other hand, what was there humiliat- 
ing in allowing hipi to perceive that I returned his affection? If I 
was angry with my body for humiliating me, I felt equally angry 
with my soul, or whatever the other part of me is, for feeling hu- 
miliated. I got so absorbed in this physiological dilemma, that for 
a moment I forgot all about him, and, putting down my paint-brush 
— it was my left hand he had kissed — I clasped them both together 
and gazed vacantly out to sea. 

“Dear Altiora,” he went on, “forgive me; I spoke too suddenly, 
but it was quite impossible for me to restrain my feelings any lon- 
ger. Ever since we first met I have waited for this supreme mo- 
ment. I know that I am only a younger son, and have little to 
offer you but a heartfelt love and a nature all sympathy.” And so 
he went on — I suppose very much the usual thing, only it sounded 
rather as if it had been prepared beforehand ; still, it was very pleas- 
ant to listen to at the time. I forget a good deal of what he said, 
for I had so many conflicting emotions to contend with that I did 
not attend very closely. I think the predominant one was an all- 
pervading sense of content and happiness, and for some reason my 
eyes filled with tears. I wonder why one thought has the physical 
result' of producing water in the eye, while another will make all 
the muscles round one’s mouth contract with laughter? Evidently 
the physical result is conditioned on the moral attribute connected 
with the emotion. In other words, these various emotions are 
forces, and act dynamically on the organism according to their 
moral composition, totally irrespective of the will. When Ronald 
saw my unresisting eyes filled with tears, and an involuntary ex- 
pression of deep joy flushing a countenance over which I had lost 
control, he took me in his arms. I had already risen, under some 
undefinable impulse, and in another moment we were in the attitude 
my mind had pictured, and which had previously suggested itself 


10 


ALTIORA PETO. 


to Millais. Then I laid my head on his shoulder and wept silently, 
and gently disengaged myself, and felt I ought to say something. 
I had not known what to say as yet — at least, not out loud. Of 
course my heart had been saying a good deal, but I felt it was not 
to be trusted under the circumstances — and, in fact, that it was seri- 
ously disturbing the normal action of the brain. So I said, softly, 
“Please go away, and let me sit down and think.” 

“I will let you sit down,” he replied, “ but don’t drive me away; 
and as for thinking, has not your heart told you all ? what more do 
you want to know? It has told me, darling, that you love me.” 

“My heart does not think,” I answered, “ and I have not told you 
anything yet. You’ve taken me so much by surprise, I don’t know 
what to say. Please don’t ask me to answer you now;” and then, 
in despair, I took refuge in the duty I ought to have thought of at 
first, and, rising to go away, said, “Besides, I must ask mamma.” 

“I will come here to-morrow at this hour to hear her decision,” 
he said, as he gave my hand a parting squeeze which I continued to 
feel for some little time afterward. 

I wondered, as I walked home, whether I had behaved as other 
girls would have done under the same circumstances, and confessed 
to a sense of mortification in the reflection that my conduct had not 
been by any means so strikingly original as I should have predicted 
it would have been whenever an event of so much importance 
should occur to me. 

I have already said that my mother and I never understood each 
other, and I had a sort of presentiment that this was a subject upon 
which we should be more than ever mutually incomprehensible. For 
some reason she never seemed to like Ronald MacAlpine, and, I 
thought, had always behaved rather rudely to him. As, however, 
she had been educated in France, and, indeed, had lived most of her 
life in Paris before her marriage, and could never quite get over her 
foreign prejudices, I thought it might only be his bare knees she 
objected to, and it would be ridiculous to allow them to be an insu- 
perable obstacle to our marriage, particularly as we should probably 
live in England, where he would have to abandon his native cos- 
tume. 

I may here incidentally observe that it has always been a matter 
of astonishment to me how a mother and daughter could be so un- 
like each other; and after reading Mr. Galton’s book, “Heredity,” I 
quite regretted that I had no brothers and sisters, as I am sure we 
should have presented extreme varieties of type. As it is, I suppose 
I take after my father. I am at least six inches taller than my 
mother, who is a stout, round, brisk little woman, very practical 


ALT10RA PETO. 


11 


and matter-of-fact, with a nez retrousse , light hair, gray eyes, and a 
temper to match ; whereas I am dark, tall, and by no means rapid 
or impulsive in my movements, and, if I may venture to say so, 
equable in disposition, though, perhaps, not as yielding as I ought 
to be. She was knitting with unwonted rapidity when I went into 
her room to tell her what had just occurred on the beach, and I 
judged, from the pace at which her fingers were moving, that her 
thoughts were of an agitated character. 

‘ ‘ Where have you been, child?” she burst out. ‘ ‘ It is past six, and 
the tea is quite cold. I told you the other day that I disapproved 
of these afternoon disappearances. You told me at lunch you were 
going into your room to write. ” 

“ So I did, mamma,” I replied; “and when I had done writing I 
went down to the beach to sketch. ” 

It had become evident that I could not have chanced upon a more 
unpropitious moment. 

“Let me look at your sketch,” she said, suspiciously. “Why, 
you seem to have put yourself into it! Who is the man in the kilt?” 

“ The gentleman in the kilt,” I returned, with emphasis, for I felt 
stung by the sneer, “is Mr. Ronald Mac Alpine, and it is about him 
I wish to speak to you. He has just asked me to be his wife. ” 

‘ ‘ His wife, indeed !” said my mother, with a sort of snort. ‘ ‘ What 
business has any man, much less a bare-legged pauper, though he is 
the brother of a ruined Scotch peer, to speak to you on such a sub- 
ject? It is more than impertinent, it is positively indecent. If he 
had any sense of propriety, he must have seen that I did not en- 
courage him; and if you had had any sense of propriety, you would 
have kept out of his way, and not permitted yourself to be insulted. 
I feel quite ashamed of you.” 

“I don’t think there is anything to be ashamed of,” I retorted. 
“ I did not propose to him, though I am not sure that I should have 
felt ashamed of myself if I had. It has always struck me as an 
anomaly,” I continued, musingly, “which I have never been able to 
explain satisfactorily to myself, why a woman should not be allowed 
to choose her husband as freely as a husband chooses his wife.” 

My recent experience had been a practical refutation of this the- 
ory, but my mother had roused my spirit of contradiction, by her 
unreasonable opposition, to a degree which made me overshoot the 
mark the other way. I am constantly in the habit of doing this in 
argument, and it often puts one at a terrible disadvantage. It did 
upon this occasion. Instead of putting my mother in a rage, she 
laughed. 

“I am glad you have spoken so frankly,” she said. “As you 


12 


ALT10RA FETO. 


have taken tlie matter so completely into your own hands, and as 
you are so fond of your pen, you can write him a letter which I will 
dictate. And for the future remember this — you may propose to as 
many men as you like, but the man you will marry will be the man 
of my choice, not of yours; and the person to whom he will make 
the proposal will be me, and not you. Now,” continued my 
mother — who, as I have remarked, was a woman of very prompt 
action — “there is no time to be lost;” and she rose and prepared 
the writing materials. “ Here is a pen;” and, placing a pen in my 
hand, she threw herself back on the couch, half closed her eyes to 
facilitate the task of composition, and began: “ ‘ Sir, — ’ ” 

At this point I could struggle against my pent-up feelings no 
longer. Throwing down the pen, I rushed up to my room, locked 
the door, burst into an agony of tears — and there I am still. 


CHAPTER II. 

ALTIORA SOLVES THE PROBLEM. 

I have not seen anybody since yesterday, except the maid, who 
brought me in some dinner. This does not arise from temper, but 
from the absolute necessity which I feel imposed upon me by my 
name to analyze my emotions calmly, review the situation, and 
think out deliberately what, from the highest point of view, is the 
right thing for me to do. My brain was so disturbed at first, that 
after I recovered from my fit of weeping I read an article of Mr. 
Mallock’s to soothe it; then I reflected. First, there was my duty 
to my mother; then there was my duty to Ronald; and last, but not 
least, there was my duty to myself. Then I thought of a higher 
duty than any of these — one which comprised them all. The prob- 
lem has, of course, often been presented to young ladies before in 
some form or other, but it is not until one has to deal with it one’s 
self that one discovers the extreme difficulty of its solution. I had 
scarcely begun to reason it out before I found that I was not in pos- 
session of all the premises. First, I was in total ignorance of the 
nature of the sentiment in my own case with which I had to deal. 
I had, it is true, a certain empirical knowledge of it, but it had only 
fully and powerfully developed itself in me within the last twenty- 
four hours, and those had been so stormy that I had been unable to 
analyze anything. Then, if I could not define exactly what I felt 
myself, how was it possible to know what Ronald felt? And final- 
ly, as the whole affair was purely subjective, and affected only us 


ALT 10 R A FETO. 


13 


two, what in the world could mamma know about it? It seemed to 
me that the right course for her to have pursued would have been, 
first, to give me all her own experience (for she had been married 
before she married papa, besides, I believe, having been several times 
in love in her youth) ; and then, when she had told me all she knew 
about it, she ought to have advised me not to give any definite an- 
swer to Ronald or to act hastily, but to explain to him that, the 
question being one upon which the happiness of our lives depended, 
we must search ourselves thoroughly, so as to guard against any 
mere superficial feeling, and put ourselves through various tests and 
ordeals. My own impression is — but of course I speak without the 
smallest experience — that it is a matter upon which it would be im- 
possible to come to any safe and definite decision within a year; and 
if mamma had left it to my judgment, that is what I should have 
told Ronald, and no amount of supplication on his part would have 
made me change my resolution. Instead of which, the more I think 
of it, the more it seems to me that the speech which she made me 
was utterly irrational and absurd. It amounted, in fact, to this, that 
I was to have no voice in the selection of my own husband. The 
only argument in favor of this mode of proceeding is, that I believe 
it is the one adopted by the French. Perhaps, as they are rather a 
logical people, they may have a good reason for it ; but I shall cer- 
tainly ask mamma to explain it to me. In the mean time, it is quite 
impossible for me to come to any decision until I know why she 
objects to Ronald. Clearly my course is, therefore, now that I have 
had a night’s rest and am calm, to discuss the subject with her in all 
its bearings as fully as I can induce her to do; and then, before act- 
ing in any way, to come back and think. I shall, at all events, have 
more data to go upon. 

I had just come to this determination, when a smart tap at the 
door warned me that the object of my meditations was upon the 
other side of it. I was glad of this. I have a theory that environ- 
ment is not altogether without a sort of moral value. As people 
are made up of forces, by which they are reciprocally affected, either 
positively or negatively, it is not unnatural that these should be 
affected by the conditions attaching to certain localities. Thus I 
should be more positive to my mother in my own room, surrounded, 
as it were, by my own moral atmosphere, than I should be in hers, 
where, on the contrary, she would have a corresponding advantage. 
Dogs — which I take to be remarkably sensitive animals — magnetical- 
ly furnish so striking an illustration of this that it has become pro- 
verbial; and we constantly witness most abject cowardice on the 
part of a dog, succeeded by defiant confidence, by mere contact with 


14 


ALTIOHA IETO. 


liis own door -step. I am always conscious of deriving, in some 
subtle manner, a moral strength of some sort, conditioned on my 
surroundings; and hence it was that I said “Come in” to my 
mother with a feeling of some relief. She was in a very amiable 
mood — suspiciously so — and came up and kissed me — rather an 
unusual thing with her. 

“My dear,” she said, “you took me so much by surprise yester- 
day, that I am afraid I spoke with more warmth than I should have 
done if I had been prepared for the news you communicated so 
abruptly and unexpectedly. Let us talk it over quietly now, and I 
think I shall be able to convince you that I am consulting your 
own interests in refusing to consent to your marriage with Mr. 
Mac Alpine.” 

“I have no doubt,” I replied, “that you would not have spoken 
so strongly without good reason, and I was just coming down to 
ask you to tell me what it was when you knocked.” 

“Well, dear,” she went on, “from inquiries which I have made, 
I find Mr. MacAlpine’s income amounts to £300 a year, which his 
brother allows him. It is true that he has been called to the Bar, 
but, so far as I am aware, he has never held a brief; and I should 
say, from what I am informed of his habits of life in London, if he 
had one he would be extremely at a loss to know what to do with 
it. Still, as he is the brother of a peer, and has a certain social rep- 
utation of a flimsy kind as a dabbler in literature, music, and art — 
though I am not aware that it adds very materially to his resources 
— I don’t know that I should have been so decided in my opposition 
if the baron and I had not formed other plans for you ; and when 
you know what these are I feel sure that you will quite agree with 
us. Last year we were obliged to go abroad, so the next will be 
your first London season; and it would be foolish of you to make 
up your mind in these barren hills on a question which affects your 
whole future, until you know what the world has to offer. Believe 
me, my dear child, we shall spare neither pains nor money to make 
you a success.” 

“But, mamma,” I said, “I don’t want to be a success. I don’t 
think it likely that I shall find any one in London I like better than 
Ronald ; and I shall refuse every offer, if any are made, no matter 
how advantageous they may be, for his sake, if I find, on farther 
acquaintance, that we thoroughly suit each other. You see, I am 
not in the least impulsive or romantic on the subject.” 

“Well, darling,” she replied, “I don’t wish to press you; I mere- 
ly wish you to understand the necessity of not committing yourself 
in that direction, because neither your step-father nor I will ever 


ALTIORA PETO. 


15 


consent to your marrying Mr. Mac Alpine. You will very soon get 
over the passing sentiment you entertain for him. I know this 
love from experience. Before my marriage with my first husband, 
the baron’s partner, I was very much admired, and, indeed, was en- 
gaged once to an Italian officer, to whom I was passionately attached ; 
but his parents would not hear of the match: he was killed after- 
ward in a duel.” And my mother touched her eyes with a corner 
of her pocket-handkerchief. “And Mr. Crombie, my first hus- 
band, attended his funeral; for poor Vittorio had remained my 
greatest friend after my marriage. There are so many kinds of 
love, dear, as you will find out when you have more experience, 
and the one need not necessarily extinguish the other.” 

Part of this speech took me so excessively by surprise, and part 
of it was so enigmatical, that for some moments I felt bereft of the 
faculty of speech. The idea of having several kinds of love — at 
least outside of one’s natural affections for one’s relations— was so 
entirely novel, that I felt I should have to think over the whole 
matter alone in my room; so I said, “Thank you, dear mamma; 
I am very much obliged for this explanation, and I will think 
about it.” 

“But, dear, I want you to act upon it. You must not allow Mr. 
Mac Alpine to remain any longer under a delusion.” 

“I can only promise you,” I replied, firmly, “that I will imme- 
diately give the matter my most earnest consideration. Until I 
have done that, I absolutely decline to commit myself to any course 
of action. ” 

“How the child takes after her father!” said my mother, rather 
snappishly, aloud to herself. Then, seeing I was perfectly fixed in 
my resolution, she came and kissed me again, and said, as she left 
the room, “Well, dear, now that you know what my wishes are, I 
will rely upon your sense of duty to give effect to them, without 
dictating to you the method in which it is to be done.” 

My mother made a mistake when she made that spiteful allusion 
to my father’s firmness. She would not have been guilty of the 
indiscretion in her own room ; but I have always felt that mine was 
pervaded by his influence, and it was forced out of her in spite of 
herself, as she became instinctively conscious that I was inspired 
with his fixed determination of will, w T hich imposed itself upon hers, 
and induced her to refrain from pushing me any farther. In all 
that she had said, it was the one sentence that imparted a profound 
comfort, and certainly decided me, as far as in me lay, to avoid 
taking after my mother. 

And this, again, led me to ponder upon that strange fate which 


16 


ALTIOBA TETO. 


always presented itself to my mind under a veil of mystery, which 
had snatched the author of my being from this earth before I had 
appeared upon it; and I gazed upon the photograph, which was my 
greatest treasure, with a never-flagging wonder and curiosity. My 
mother was very reticent in regard to my father, with whose pur- 
suits she evidently had had but little sympathy. She says the sub- 
ject is too painful for her to recur to, and shrinks from all allusion 
to it with so much feeling, that I have avoided all reference to it for 
some years past. All that I know of him is, that he was the only 
son of a superannuated old general, from whom he inherited a large 
fortune, which had been made in India, and that my grandmother, 
who had died some years before her husband, was a daughter of the 
Earl of Sark. I am consequently full second cousin of the present 
earl — a fact which my mother seems far more alive to than the earl 
— though he is almost the only relation I have got, at least that I 
know; for my mother’s belongings all emigrated to Australia when 
she was young, and, from hints that she has let drop, I think she began 
life as a governess with an Italian family, and then she married Mr. 
Crombie, Baron Grandesella’s partner. They were merchants, or in 
business of some sort — I never could quite make out what ; but after 
his death she married papa, who died before I was born, and then 
she married the baron. 

Ever since, in my early childhood, my attention was called to a 
duckling which had been hatched by a hen, I had seemed to oc- 
cupy the same unnatural relation to my mother. The baron always 
made the impression upon me of a turkey gobbler in a perpetual 
state of strut, and Mr. Murkle, the baron’s partner, of a hawk, who 
only refrained from pouncing upon the hen and the gobbler because 
they were too big, but who never took his carnivorous eye off me. 
I feel him perpetually hovering above me. If ever there was a man 
whom one word could describe, ‘ ‘ Murkle ” is the man, and “pounce ” 
is the word. This is the sort of domestic barn-yard in which I have 
been brought up. I have roamed with the gobbler, the hen, and 
the hawk through all the capitals of Europe. We took contracts, 
we founded banks, we obtained concessions, we started companies. 
The baron swelled and strutted through the financial political world 
of Europe, Mr. Murkle pounced upon it, and my mother made 
friends with other hens, and scratched its surfaces, and pecked 
away at what she found with great assiduity. We have always 
lived with the extravagance of potentates — I don’t mean German 
princes, but magnates of the highest order. That I was being care- 
fully brought up for something, I soon discovered; but nothing 
could cure my unfortunate propensity to swim— in other words, to 


ALT10RA PETO. 


17 


study. I was unable to have a laboratory, and go in for chemistry 
as I should have wished, because of the regulations against travel- 
ling with explosive materials; but I had a trunk full of books on 
science and philosophy which broke the backs of the railway por- 
ters and the heart of my mother — at least, it injured, if not her heart, 
her temper. I steadily objected to wasting my time on what are 
termed accomplishments. The baron spared no expense to procure 
me the best masters, but in vain. Languages came to me as natu- 
rally as any other kind of swimming; and I have a taste for art, 
which is the chief consolation of my mother, who always tries to 
make me display my erudition on the subject in society, which I 
naturally decline to do ; in fact, if there is a thing I detest, it is soci- 
ety. As for the purple and fine linen in which both my mother and 
myself are arrayed, the money spent upon it annually would main- 
tain hundreds of starving pauper families. The baron, who used to 
allow me an ample allowance of pin-money, cut me down last year 
because mamma discovered that I made what she called an improp- 
er use of it in relieving distress ; but I have, nevertheless, several 
pensioners in various parts of the world, whom I maintain on the 
sale of the lace and embroidery which I unpick from the flounces 
of my petticoats, and send them the money by post-office orders — 
Johnson, my maid, who enters enthusiastically into my schemes, 
being pledged to secrecy. 

The effect of being so entirely out of sympathy with my belong- 
ings, and of finding myself forced into a life so little congenial to 
me, has been to develop my inherited tendencies in a premature and 
irregular fashion; and it therefore becomes all the more essential, 
now that the important question of choosing a partner for life is 
concerned, to be quite sure that we are thoroughly in accord as to 
our hopes and aims. So far I had not had any opportunity of dis- 
covering whether Ronald, under his agreeable social exterior and 
varied accomplishments, possessed those qualities and moral aspira- 
tions which I longed to find in some one to whom I could unburden 
my own feelings. These are subjects one does not rush into lightly; 
and so reticent is my tendency in regard to them, that I did not 
wonder at his silence on questions affecting the deeper problems of 
life. It became, therefore, extremely necessary to know what we 
had in common, and only right that, before going any farther, I 
should explain to him the conclusions to which my reading and re- 
flections so far had led me, and my notion of what I considered to 
be the end and object of my existence. I therefore had some lunch- 
eon in my own room, and, without going through the farce of taking 
my sketch-book, strolled down to the rocks, upon one of which I 

2 


18 


ALTIOIiA PETO. 


perceived him seated, gazing pensively seaward. So absorbed was 
he in meditation, that he was not aware of my proximity till I spoke 
to him. 

“My darling! how you startled me!” he exclaimed, jumping off 
his perch with pleased surprise. “ If I had not been thinking about 
you so deeply I should have heard you. What an agony of sus- 
pense I have been in since yesterday ! and now, ” he said, looking at 
me eagerly, “ the expression on your face tells me nothing to inspire 
hope.” 

“ I do not mean it should,” I answered, calmly, but I felt such a 
strange tightening across the chest that speech became an effort. 
“ Mamma is absolutely and firmly opposed to my entertaining any 
proposal from you, and will listen to no argument on the subject; so 
it is useless your recurring to it either with her or me. I am bound 
to obey her wishes in the matter; but even if I were not, I should 
have other things to say to you before I could arrive at a decision. 
I think it right to tell you this, lest you should imagine, from what 
passed yesterday, that, putting her out of the question, I had no 
difficulties in my own mind to encounter. ” 

The intensity of the effort which this speech caused me imparted 
a harshness to it that I could not have avoided without bursting 
into tears ; and now, when I saw what suffering it produced, the 
trial of nerve was in no degree lessened. My knees were trembling, 
and my heart was beating so violently that it suddenly occurred to 
me to try and restore the moral balance by a little physical pain. 
Under this impulse I leaned my whole weight upon my hand, which 
rested upon an edge of rock. The ragged point was so sharp that 
it cut me deeply, and under other circumstances I should have been 
unable to restrain an exclamation of pain. As it was, it acted like 
a sedative. The effect of physical pain and moral suffering on each 
other is very curious. First, I have a disagreeable duty to perform, 
and the moral effort gives me a physically painful constriction of 
the chest; then I hurt myself by cutting my hand on a rock, and 
feel morally strengthened, and therefore physically relieved. I sup- 
pose these are very crude reflections, and that it is perfectly well 
known by science exactly what physical pain and moral suffering 
are, and where they originate. Of course I did not make them 
at the moment ; but the impulse under which I acted proved a sound 
one, for Ronald was so taken up bandaging my hand, which was 
bleeding freely, that we were both able to talk more calmly after- 
ward. 

“ I can understand your mother’s objection,” he said; “with her 
it is probably merely a matter of pounds, shillings, and pence; but 


ALTIORA PJETO. 


19 


I don’t understand why, if she had consented, you would still have 
required time for reflection.” 

‘ ‘ I should have required to know more of your character, your 
aims in life, and your aspirations,” I answered; “ and I should also 
have needed some more information than I now possess as to your 
views in regard to those deep and mysterious problems which have 
ever agitated the bosom of humanity, as it is of the utmost impor- 
tance that two people who propose to pass their lives together should 
he in entire sympathy upon subjects so vital.” 

I thought it best to come to the point at once, for I was quite pre- 
pared to assert my rights as a girl who would soon be a woman, and 
in a position to defy the maternal authority, if I found him thor- 
oughly satisfactory and sympathetic. An amused smile passed 
over his countenance as I made this innocent and, as it seemed to 
me, very pertinent observation. 

“ Have you solved the problems of which you speak?” he said. 

I had in my pocket notes for an essay which I was engaged in 
writing on “The Anomalies of Civilized Existence, as Tested by 
Intuitive Aspirations in Ideal Life,” but I was afraid of boring him 
by reading them to him ; so I explained to him shortly, that though 
my experience of life had been brief, I had lived long enough to 
discover that the popular theology, so far as its practical social 
working was concerned, failed to satisfy my religious instinct, and 
that I had therefore determined to adopt a method of moral research 
which, so far as my investigation went, had not been attempted 
even by the most eminent reformers of ancient or modern times. 
Those who endeavored to inculcate a new religious idea, if it had any 
connection with another world or a future life, had always started 
with the assumption of an inspiration which it was impossible ra- 
tionally to verify, and which contained the new moral truths that 
they offered to the world for its guidance and salvation; while, if it 
had no such connection with the unknown, it became a cold system 
of philosophy — as, for instance, those of Confucius and Plato, or 
Comte— which had never been acceptable to the masses, because 
they appealed so much more to the intellect than the affections. In 
other words, the attempt of reformers and philosophers hitherto had 
been invariably to endeavor to construct the life out of the religion, 
instead of the religion out of the life, by either an act of faith, or an 
effort of intellect out of practical experiment. 

“Then,” said Ronald, delightedly, “we agree entirely, and sym- 
pathize thoroughly. We neither of us know anything, or believe 
anything — in other words, we are both agnostics.” 

He had no sooner made this remark than I felt that all was at an 


20 


ALTIOKA PETO. 


end between us. It was evident that, if he could so little under- 
stand my principle of thought, after the clear explanation I had 
offered him, as to confound it with agnosticism, the very founda- 
tions of mutual sympathy were wanting. I thought, however, that 
it was only due to him to explain this; so I observed that I was so 
very far from being an agnostic, that I could only account for his 
supposing me to be one on the hypothesis of a weakness of intellect 
on my part; and I left him to infer that, in my opinion, it included 
one on his. 

“On the contrary,” he replied, “it is considered an evidence of 
advanced and enlightened thought. How can we know anything 
more of ourselves than that we are phenomena? And since we are 
nothing but phenomena, how can there be anything else that isn’t 
a phenomenon? Everything in the universe, and outside of it — if 
there is anything outside of it — must be all of one piece.” 

“How,” I said, “knowing nothing, and having no means of 
knowing anything, do you know that you are a phenomenon? And 
what is a phenomenon? If you start on the assumption that you 
know nothing, argument becomes impossible ; if you assert that you 
know anything, you are not an agnostic. ” 

“Pardon me,” he replied; “ I know that both you and I exist, but 
it is impossible for me to know anything as to the cause or nature 
of our existence.” 

“That last assertion is assuming a good deal of knowledge for 
one who knows nothing. Pray, do you consider love a phenomenon, 
in regard to the nature and cause of which you know nothing?” 

“Ah, it is the most extraordinary and inexplicable of all phe- 
nomena, darling, for you. I know that it exists, so far as I am con- 
cerned: why should I care to know more?” 

“Because, without knowing more, it is evident that we should 
both make a mess of it,” replied I, somewhat brusquely. “I for 
one believe that all phenomena, as you call them, are governed by 
law. How do you account for the world going round the sun?” 

“Just as I account for my coming to meet you to-day — by the 
phenomenon, not the law, of attraction.” 

“Well,” I said — for a certain flippancy of presumption in his 
manner of dealing with so momentous a subject offended me— “it 
lias produced in me the sensation of repulsion, and I am the less 
distressed at it, because you know that it is impossible for you to 
discover the cause of it. It is a simple phenomenon which will not 
bear discussion ; it exists, that is all either of us know ; farther 
investigation is hopeless. We met, we were both attracted, we ex- 
changed a few ideas; you remained attracted, while I was repelled. 


ALTIORA PETO. 


21 


Curiously enough, while I am attracting you, and you are repelling 
me, we both suffer, and shall continue to do so until a new series of 
phenomena occur. That, I think, is the history of our little ro- 
mance, looked at from an agnostic point of view.” I concluded 
bitterly, and felt a suspicious desire to blow my nose, which a false 
pride prevented my doing at the moment, while my eyes were so 
full of tears that I scarcely dared to wink them. As far as I could 
analyze my feelings at the time, this emotion was not the result of 
any noble or tender sentiment, but of sheer vexation and disappoint- 
ment. 

At this critical moment a step on the shingle arrested our atten- 
tion, and turning round I saw a large and somewhat ungainly man, 
dressed in an exaggerated tourist costume of checks and knicker- 
bockers, whom I at once divined to be no less a person than the 
baron himself. “Ah,” thought I, “he has been telegraphed for.” 
Mamma evidently began to suspect something some days ago. She 
must consider the matter serious. I had no idea I was growing into 
such an important personage. 

As he approached he stretched out his arms as though he expected 
me to rush into them, and his face seemed to beam with affectionate 
eagerness. “Ah, my little Ora!” he called out (he had adopted the 
last syllable of my name as a pet appellation, preferring it to Alty, 
which was the only other alternative; my mother never condescended 
to abbreviate it), “have I found you at last, hidden away among the 
rocks like a sea-gull, my picturesque beauty ?” and he folded me 
slowly in his elephantine embrace. “And, my good friend Mac- 
Alpine, how well you are looking ! But who would not, in that grand 
costume ? Ah, how I envy you Highlanders ! What traditions, what 
poetry, what romance !” And, after shaking hands with him, he drew 
back, to give him the full benefit of his admiring gaze. He had only 
seen Mr. MacAlpine once before, but this was too good an oppor- 
tunity of plunging into familiarity with the brother of a peer to be 
neglected. 

“You are both surprised to see me, no doubt; but, as the French 
say, there is nothing certain but the unexpected. Murkle telegraphs 
me from Paris that my presence is required there without delay on 
business the most important. You have perhaps heard of the nat- 
ure and extent of our operations, MacAlpine. Everything on these 
occasions depends upon promptitude of action; but I cannot sever 
myself from my domestic treasures. Wealth, life itself, is value- 
less, unless shared by those we love. Is it not so, ma cherie ? What 
pleasures sacrifices become under such circumstances ! How de- 
lightful was my journey rendered by the anticipation of meeting 


22 


ALTIOBA PETO. 


my wife and daughter! — though we have not been so long sepa- 
rated.” 

“When are we to start, baron?” I asked, anxious to put an end 
to the torrent which I knew by experience would flow without 
interruption till we reached the house. I never would call him 
“papa,” though he had repeatedly urged me to do so; but I felt 
that the sacred name must not be so profaned. 

“I can only allow you one day for packing, puss. You know 
how expert your mother has become by long practice in these sud- 
den moves. And you, MacAlpine — when shall you tear yourself 
away from your native heath?” 

“ I don’t know,” said Ronald, gloomily, who was evidently a good 
deal depressed by this second blow to all his hopes. The difficul- 
ties I had created he evidently had not thought serious, but the 
prospect of having to part finally from me now rather overcame 
him. 

“He is an agnostic, and does not know anything,” I added, ma- 
liciously, for I was still smarting under a certain self-satisfied pre- 
sumption he had shown in our argument. 

“ Parbleu /” said the baron. “An agnostic in a kilt — what an odd 
combination! Now, if you had said an aesthete, I could have under- 
stood. Is a kilt aesthetic, Ora? You understand art, and ought to 
know. Why should we not seek to adapt the habits and costumes 
of our ancestors to the thoughts and tendencies of the day? Why 
is an agnostic in a kilt more incongruous than a financier in knick- 
erbockers?” and he looked down complacently on his own. “What 
knight-errant was it who, in the days of chivalry, used to wear a 
sunflower as his badge? He may have been an aesthete.” 

Here the baron’s breath was providentially checked by the steep- 
ness of the cliff up which we had begun to climb, and at the top of 
it we stopped to rest, and give Ronald an opportunity of bidding me 
a last farewell. I saw the baron eying us narrowly as he did so, so 
I gave him no clew to my feelings by my manner; and we strolled 
on leisurely, he volubly expatiating on his activity and devotion to 
his family and his affairs, and I scarcely listening — ruthlessly scat- 
tering to the winds the seeds of that affection which, for the first 
time in my life, had just begun to sprout, for an object that had 
proved unworthy. 

So ends the history of my first delusion. I wonder whether the 
experience of my life is to be that it is made up of them— whether 
the satisfaction which most people seem to derive from existence 
arises from the fact that they live on the surface, and don’t dig deep 
enough to find that it is made up of illusions? That the financial 


ALTIORA PETO. 


23 


operations of the baron and Mr. Murkle are, lias long become clear 
to me ; that the social ambitions of my mother are, is no less evi- 
dent. All the three individuals with whom my life is most closely 
associated are pursuing shadows, and they persist in dragging me 
with them. Next year I am to be launched upon the society of 
London, and no pains are to be spared to make me a success — in 
other words, to make me another illusion; that is what it comes to. 
The only things that seem to me real are poverty, sickness — suffering 
of all sorts. I am strongly inclined to think that if you go deep 
enough, everything else is sham. But perhaps that is only because 
I am young, and my experience of life so far has had a tendency 
to make me morbid. There must surely be another side to the 
medal; and, on that hypothesis, I solemnly dedicate my life to its 
discovery. 


CHAPTER III. 

THE CALIFORNIANS. 

In the entresol of one of the most recent and spacious construc- 
tions of Ilaussmann, near the Arc de Triomphe, in Paris, sat two 
young ladies of the type which has ceased to produce the astonish- 
ment among Parisians that greeted its first appearance, and has be- 
come of late not only recognized, but rather the mode than other- 
wise. They had evidently just arrived; for the room still bore traces 
of the litter of unpacking, and an angular, middle-aged woman, with 
severe lines about the corners of her mouth, and a long, thin nose, 
with a bridge like a razor, was performing the process usually known 
as “tidying up.” 

“My sakes!” she said, pausing for an instant in her occupation to 
look out of the window. ‘ ‘ Where air all them carriages a-driving 
to? If so many people want to go along that road,” she went on, 
looking contemptuously down the Champs Elysees, ‘ ‘ I wonder why 
they don’t have a car-track along it? On Sunday, too! Why, they 
can’t be all a-going to church — can they, my dear? They are all 
a-going the same way,” and she sank her voice apologetically, as 
though fearing she might have done the gay crowd which was then 
streaming out to the Bois a wrong. 

“Oh, you silly, innocent old Hannah! What fun it will be com- 
pleting your education and teaching your antiquated idea how to 
shoot! Why, that is called the beau monde, going out for a drive in 
the Bois.” 

“Oh, the bo mawnd, is it? And what’s the Bwa? They do seem 


24 


ALTIOUA PETO. 


in an awful hurry to get there. Now, from the looks of them men” 
— and she gazed critically at the occupants of the roof of a four-in- 
hand — “ if that’s what they are on a Sunday, I guess there ain’t much 
to ’em on a week-day. You don’t tell me that you’ve come all the 
way from Calif orney to find husbands among them chaps?” 

“Now, Hannah, you mustn’t talk so disrespectfully of the male 
sex because you happen to be an old maid. And we haven’t come 
across the Atlantic to find husbands at all, but to amuse ourselves 
and inform our minds; and we’ve brought you — you faithful old 
thing — to take care of us, and see we don’t get into mischief. And 
you needn’t think it necessary to go about dusting every hole and 
corner any more, but leave that to the French servants. And now 
you had much better go and rest yourself, and leave us to our own 
devices— only don’t forget that I am Stella and Stella’s me.” At 
which somewhat enigmatical absurdity both the young ladies burst 
into a fit of hearty laughter, and the old one smiled with a grim 
knowingness as she left the room. 

“Oh, Mattie! what a joke it will be, trifling with all their bud- 
ding, blase , or blighted affections, as the case may be!” And the two 
girls walked to the window and looked out upon the victims they 
intended to sacrifice with a calm confidence which, considering they 
had only reached Paris early that morning for the first time in their 
lives, proved they were not novices in the description of warfare 
they proposed to enter upon in the Old World. One of them was 
tall, graceful, and strikingly handsome. It was not she who had 
made the last remark, however, betokening so much certainty of 
their power for mischief, but her companion, who was a good deal 
shorter, and who made up for her want of looks — for her features 
were irregular and rather plain — by the extreme brilliancy of her 
eyes, and the intelligence and mobility of expression. 

“ I wonder that Keith has not come to see us yet,” said the tall 
one. “I sent round the first thing to tell him we’d arrived.” 

“ What kind of a man is he, anyhow?” asked her friend. 

“ That’s just what I want to know. I saw his photograph once — 
dreamy, blue eye, tawny mustache, plenty of biceps, languid, drawl- 
ing, aw-aw kind of person, I should judge. The hero of the period, 
you know — pretends to have brains, but to be too lazy to look for 
them, which is a capital way of concealing their absence. I shall 
call him Keith right away, and if he’s got any sense he’ll offer to 
kiss me. It would be only natural, as his mother was my aunt. 
She married an attache, or a secretary, or a consul, or something 
connected with English diplomacy, at Washington. There he had 
become a minister and an ambassador, or something of that sort. 


ALTIORA PETO. 


25 


and my aunt became Lady Hetherington, and then they both died, 
leaving some sons and daughters. I never saw any of them, of 
course, as I was born in California ; and I never expected to, till you 
asked me to come to Europe with you to see life and make acquaint- 
ance with my English cousins. What a first-rate idea that was ! 
Oh ! I quite forgot,” said the girl, suddenly interrupting herself. 
“ My! why, it’s you he’s got to kiss!” 

“ Well, I don’t think the tawny mustache will much mind mak- 
ing the mistake; still, for the sake of appearances, we ought to de- 
cide before he comes which is his cousin. It would not do to give 
him a bad impression of her at the outset. Now, shall we take him 
into our confidence, or are we to change places and names at once? 
Am I henceforth during our stay in Europe to be Mattie Terrill, and 
are you to be Stella Walton? Because, if so, you must post me up 
thoroughly about the late ambassador and your aunt and cousins.” 

“Oh, that don’t matter,” laughed her friend, whom we must 
henceforth call Stella. “We’ll put it all down to Western igno- 
rance. What are benighted beings on the Pacific slope expected to 
know about their English cousins? You can be as ignorant as you 
like. Won’t it be a joke? I do hope he’ll turn out a nice fellow, 
and that you’ll fall in love with him, Mattie. We’d all three stay in 
Europe and have splendid times. Mind you begin by calling him 
Keith. The only important thing you’ve got to recollect is, that 
you’re a pauper — left very badly off, poor thing, in consequence 
of that terrible crash in mining-stocks, which ruined your poor pa ; 
and I must never forget that I am the heiress, the lovely Bonanza, 
the fairy Princess of Nuggets, the celebrated Stella Walton.” 

“Wasn’t it lucky,” said her friend, “that the moment I became 
an heiress I was said to be beautiful; and that Cedar Buttes was 
such an out-of-the-way place that it’s a thousand to one if we meet 
any one we ever saw before? And if we do, we must swear them to 
secrecy. I guess the celebrated Californian heiress and her friend 
will play such a trick on old Europe as will astonish its gilded youth 
and its match-making mammas; while it will save me from the di- 
lemma of never knowing whether the impecunious European gran- 
dees whom I captivate want to marry me for myself or my money. 
Oh, Stella, I shall so enjoy seeing them all at your feet! Only re- 
member, dear, they’ll all be making love to you for my money, so 
don’t go and lose your heart to any of them. There he is!” she ex- 
claimed, as a ring at the bell announced a visitor. 

Excepting that he had a long, fair mustache, and may possibly 
have possessed biceps (for lie was a well-made man of six feet), the 
photograph had evident ly conveyed an entirely wrong impression of 


26 


ALTIORA VETO. 


her cousin to Stella. His eye was anything hut dreamy, and there 
were depths in its dark blue which, so far from denoting the absence 
of brains, suggested that they were present in an unusual degree. 
Moreover, there was nothing either languid in his manner or drawl- 
ing in his speech, and he approached the girls with a frank cordi- 
ality which they were not slow to perceive and reciprocate. 

“ I am Mattie Terrill, Cousin Keith,” said the shorter girl, with a 
charming air of innocence, “and this is my bosom friend, Stella 
Walton, the great Californian heiress, you know. How kind of you 
to answer my letter so promptly ! I thought I might venture so far 
on our relationship.” 

“I should never have forgiven you if you had been a day in Paris 
without letting me know,” said Keith. “You must consider me 
while you are here as absolutely devoted to your service. I sup- 
pose you are not alone, Mattie? You don’t mind my calling you 
Mattie?” 

“Why, of course not. How do you mean about our not being 
alone? 1 guess we are old enough to take care of ourselves. There’s 
Hannah, to be sure, but she hardly counts.” 

Mr. Hetherington looked rather embarrassed, and turned to her 
companion, who, while this dialogue was going on, had sat de- 
murely silent. 

“ We’re both orphans, you know, Mr. Hetherington,” she now ob- 
served, “but are not the less able to protect each other. Besides, 
if the men get very dangerous, we can always take refuge in flight. 
I confess I rather hoped that we might enlist you as our knight- 
errant/’ And as she glanced at him confidingly Hetherington 
thought he had never seen such lovely, long eyelashes. 

“ Oh, there is no real danger,” he answered, laughingly. “ I was 
thinking of the proprieties. Paris, you know, which is the least 
proper city in the world, is the most particular about these; perhaps 
that is the reason. I wanted your whole party to come and dine 
with me to-night at Bignon’s, and I did not know how many it con- 
sisted of ; and then, if you don’t mind its being Sunday, we could go 
to the theatre afterward. Would you kindly tell me,” he added, 
somewhat shyly, “who Hannah is? Perhaps we might take her 
too.” 

“Iam afraid Hannah would not understand French notions of 
propriety; for she would think it horribly improper to go to the 
theatre on Sunday, and does not think it at all improper our travel- 
ling alone,” said Mattie. “We brought Hannah with us, as an an- 
tique, to give us a sort of air of respectability and impose upon for- 
eigners, but not to participate in our amusements, which she would 


ALT 10 R A PETO. 


27 


not enjoy, or to act as a restraint upon us, except when we asked 
her to. We thought she might be useful in case of sickness; and as 
the dear old thing has no one to care for her at home, and is very 
poor, and has known me ever since I was a child, I told her to come 
along. She’s the daughter of a Methodist minister, and taught 
school — in the primaries, of course, because she only had a third- 
grade certificate; so her grammar is faulty. For all that, she knows 
a good deal more than you or me ; but I think she would be a sort 
of fifth wheel to the coach to-night, even if she would come.” 

“Then it is agreed,” said Hetherington. “I will call for you 
with the fourth wheel, who is a friend I am living with, this even- 
ing, and we shall make a partie carree. I am sure you will like 
Bob Alderney, Mattie.” 

“If he is half as nice as you are, Keith, I am sure I shall,” re- 
sponded Mattie, with a frank laugh. “ I predict we are going to 
have a lovely time in Paris; and then we’ll all go to London for 
the season.” 

“ Oh, Mattie,” burst out Stella, when the door had closed on Heth- 
erington, “why, he is perfectly splendid! Not a bit like what I 
expected. I am real jealous to think that he imagines you his 
cousin all the time. I was quite afraid he would give you a broth- 
erly salute when he went away. What voices these Englishmen 
have! so melodious, ain’t they? And how nicely his clothes do sit! 
If his friend Bob Alderney is only up to the same notch, what a 
pair of beaux we shall have! This,” she said, as she rose and struck 
a melodramatic attitude in the middle of the room, “surpasses my 
most sanguine expectations.” 

True to time, Hetherington appeared, with his friend, who was 
about three inches shorter than himself, with a black beard and an 
eye-glass, both in evening costume — a fact evidently gratifying to 
the young ladies. They each carried bouquets. 

“I must tell you,” said Hetherington, after introducing his friend, 
as he presented his bouquet to Stella, “that it is not the custom in 
Paris for young men to make presents of bouquets to young ladies, 
as it is in America; but we thought you might have neglected to 
provide yourselves with any. So far as we are concerned, you 
may always rely upon us — mayn’t they, Bob? Only don’t do so in 
the case of others.” 

Stella, who, in her capacity of heiress, wore Mattie’s jewels, and 
was otherwise most becomingly attired, looked so radiantly bewitch- 
ing, as her eyes sparkled with the excitement of anticipation, that 
poor Bob was almost too dazzled to reply with a promptitude befit- 
ting the occasion. In fact, he was only recalled to duty by Mattie, 


28 


ALTIOliA FETO. 


saying, " Is that lovely bouquet really for me, Mr. Alderney?” upon 
which that gentleman rapidly dropped his eye-glass and stammered 
an apology as he handed it to her in such confusion that she laughed 
and said, ‘ ‘ Ah, I see, as Mr. Hetherington says, it is not the custom, 
but you’ll soon get used to it. How do you propose going, Mr. 
Hetherington? It’s too far to walk.” 

‘‘Yes, but I have two coupes at the door ; if you will get into one 
with Bob, I will take Stella with me.” 

Most of us are too familiar with Paris to realize the first impres- 
sion which its afternoon and evening life, bubbling over into the 
boulevards from the cafes, is calculated to produce ; but Hethering- 
ton and Alderney had the full benefit of the original observations 
and gushing spontaneity of their two companions, whose experi- 
ence of life thus far had been limited to San Francisco and Virginia 
City, and to whom the novelty and excitement of thus independent- 
ly launching themselves upon the glittering surface of Parisian ex- 
istence produced a brilliant gayety which seemed irresistibly fasci- 
nating to the young men, accustomed to the more reserved and 
languid beauties of their own society. 

It was difficult to say which was the more sparkling, the Moselle 
or the conversation, at that never-to-be-forgotten first dinner at 
Bignon’s, at the end of which Stella had decided that, as a distant 
cousin of hers had married a distant cousin of Mattie’s, they were 
all cousins together, and it was ridiculous for her to call Keith Mr. 
Hetherington, especially as they were likely to be so much together; 
and that, if they began calling each other by their Christian names 
at once, it would be a protection to all, and be much less particular 
than if they put it off until later. And Bob Alderney looked so 
miserable at being left out in the cold, and pleaded so hard to be 
considered somebody’s cousin, and have the same protection thrown 
over him, and protested so eloquently that he was quite as much a 
cousin to Keith as Stella was a cousin to Mattie, and that distinc- 
tions of this sort were invidious and harm might come of them, that 
it was decided that he should be included, as no one need know that 
they had not been intimate from their childhood. 

The Gymnase did not contain a merrier party than the four who 
comfortably filled the box which Hetherington had secured; and 
the attention of the girls was equally divided between what was 
going on on the stage and the dresses of the ladies; while the beauty 
of Stella Walton was creating an evident sensation, and during the 
entr'acte a whole battery of lorgnettes was opened upon her from the 
stalls, without, however, in the smallest degree ruffling her self- 
possession. 


ALT10RA PETO. 


29 


“That fellow ought to know Stella again when he sees her,” 
whispered Alderney to his friend, availing himself of his newly- 
acquired privilege. “He has never taken his eyes, or rather his 
glasses, off her since the curtain rose. See, he is w r aving his hand to 
you;” and Hetherington saw a tall, dark, handsome man, with raven 
hair, a hooked nose, a curled mustache, and a lithe figure, a flower 
in his button-hole, and a large expanse of shirt-front under his white 
tie, nodding to him familiarly. 

‘ ‘ It’s Murkle, the great contractor and financier. I met him sev- 
eral times in Florence, but I didn’t know I was so intimate with 
him as he seems to be with me. I believe he has just got into Par- 
liament. See, he’s making signs.” 

“He wants you to go and meet him in the foyer said Alderney. 
“Let’s go. If what the world says of him is true, he has brass 
enough to come here, and perhaps that would be awkward.” 

“The probability is,” answered Hetherington, “that his object in 
wanting me to meet him in the foyer is to ask to be presented to the 
ladies, and it really is compromising. He is probably quite under a 
mistake as to who our companions are. This comes of introducing 
American manners into Paris.” 

“Perhaps the young ladies themselves will be the best judges as 
to what ought to be done.” 

“What are you two whispering about instead of amusing us?” 
interrupted Stella at this moment. “You don’t mean to say that 
you have a secret into which we are not to be admitted? Who is 
that enormously fat man, with a blue sash across his shirt-front — 
and what’s that thing like a cheese-plate on his chest? — leaning over 
that equally fat, white-powdered woman with the bare shoulders, 
and the diamond necklace, and the double chin? There! she has 
just rapped him on the knuckles with her fan, and he seems to be 
kissing the place to make it well. What a comical old pair! They 
can’t be courting at their time of life, and they can’t be married. 
-Yet it’s for all the world like some sort of love-making.” 

“It is love-making of a particular kind,” said Hetherington. 
“He is a celebrated foreign ambassador, and the star on his breast 
is a decoration ; and she is Madame la Comtesse Polischimoff, a fe- 
male Russian diplomatist, and she is pretending to make love to him, 
in order to find out the secrets of his government, and he is pretend- 
ing to make love to her to find out the secrets of hers. The love part 
of it, like the purity of her complexion, is all sham; but I want to ask 
your advice. ” And Pletherington went on to tell her of the celebrated 
financier, who had by this time disappeared from the stalls, and whose 
knock he was in momentary dread of hearing at the door of the box. 


30 


ALTIORA PETO . 


“Oh, go and bring him in by all means,” said Mattie. “What 
fun! — we’ll make him put us into some good things. If there is a 
thing I understand, it is finance. Don’t tell him yet that one of us 
is an heiress — we will let that sublime fact dawn upon his enter- 
prising mind by degrees. He’ll be sure to want funds for some- 
thing that wants floating, and is sure to make all our fortunes, and 
then we’ll throw our gaudy fly — won’t we, Stella? Oh, he’ll rise to 
you, never fear. And mind, we are all cousins,” she added, as 
Hetherington was leaving the box. He met Murkle before he had 
taken many steps along the corridor, who greeted him with easy 
familiarity. 

“Ah, Hetherington, I was delighted to see you again, especially 
in such good company, that upon my soul I could not resist coming 
to ask if I might be permitted to share it. I had no idea you wont 
in for that sort of thing. Rumor has it that you are above all such 
weakness ; but human nature — human nature — we are all mortal ; 
but I give you my word, between friends, I am the soul of honor 
in these affairs.” 

“You are quite under a mistake,” said Hetherington, rather 
stiffly; “the ladies I am with in the box are cousins of mine, who 
have just arrived from America; and as the old lady of the party was 
unwell” — “Confound it!” he thought, “I wonder what old Hannah’s 
surname is, and whether we could convert her into an aunt?” — “I did 
not like to disappoint them, the more especially as Mr. Alderney, 
to whom I will introduce you presently, is — ahem ! — also a sort of 
connection. I am sure they will be delighted to make your acquaint- 
ance ;” and he ushered Murkle into the box, whose manner changed 
considerably at the frigid and stately reception he met with. There 
was a calm hardihood in the manner of both these young ladies, 
when they scented the least suspicion of danger, that did credit to 
the early training of Cedar Buttes— a certain underlying contempt 
for the male sex, as an inferior order of creation, who might under- 
stand the use of pickaxes for the extraction of ore, but was a poor 
defenceless creature when it came to defending itself against the 
poisoned arrows of their blow-pipes. Mr. Murkle felt instinctively 
that he was in the presence of a new specimen, and that he had bet- 
ter tread warily and, above all, politely; so he made haste to lay 
aside the fashionable swagger with which he had entered, and 
twisted his opera-hat apologetically, as he made his best bow, and 
asked them when they had arrived in Paris, and how they liked it. 

“Pretty well, as far as we’ve got, to use the expressive language 
of Artemus Ward,” said Stella, glancing slyly at Hetherington and 
Alderney. “I confess I don’t care much for pleasure, for which 


ALTIORA PETO. 


31 


this city is so celebrated : I leave that to my cousin Mattie. I in- 
terest myself chiefly in stocks and the fluctuations of the money 
market.” 

Mr. Murkle was so utterly taken aback by this sudden revelation 
of the propensities of the lovely creature he had been gazing at with 
so much admiration, that he was unable to find an appropriate reply 
before the curtain rose; and for the rest of the evening the two girls 
were so absorbed by the play that he failed to extract anything from 
them but monosyllables. His curiosity had, however, been so highly 
excited, and his interest so much aroused by the beauty of one, and 
the obvious originality, in spite of their silence, of both, that as he 
was helping to put them into their shawls when the play was over, 
he asked, in a most deferential manner, if he might be allowed to 
call. 

“What is the number and name of our street, Keith?” said 
Stella. “ I never can remember. ” 

‘ ‘ The street has had a great many names, and will probably have 
a good many more,” said Hetherington. “At present it is called 
‘Rue du dix-huit Mars, dix-huit cent soixante et onze,’in memory 
of the first day of the Commune ; and the number is ‘ Quatre-vingt 
dix-huit.’ ” 

“Goodness !” said Mattie ; “who is ever to remember all these 
‘dix-huits?’ It’s worse than the numbers along Fifth Avenue, in 
Hew York.” 

“How very strange!” exclaimed Murkle. “ On what floor, may I 
ask? Some of my most intimate friends have taken the premier in 
the same house, and arrive to-morrow.” 

“Then I do hope they ain’t noisy,” said Mattie, “for they are 
just above us; we’re on the entresol, I think it is called Now, we 
really must hurry up, or old Hannah will think we’re lost. Come, 
Keith, you and I will go together this time for a change, and send 
Bob and Stella in the other coupe. Good-night, Mr. Murkle ; we 
shall always be glad to see you.” 


CHAPTER IY. 

THE FINANCIAL TRIUMVIRATE. 

Grandesella and Murkle had “places of business ” in London, 
Paris, and Florence. These consisted of two or three large rooms, 
furnished somewhat more ornately than is usual in such establish- 
ments, with a small office, in which there were one or two clerks. 


32 


ALTIORA PETO. 


It was never certain where they were to be found. There was a 
great convenience attending this difficulty of unearthing them when 
they did not wdsh to be invaded, as the clerk was instructed to say 
they were abroad, when, in point of fact, they might be in the 
next room; or Mr. Murkle would say that the affair was one which 
the baron understood, but to which he had not directed his atten- 
tion, if it were inconvenient for him to commit himself— and that 
the baron was, unfortunately, in Paris. And when the visitor was 
gone the partners would put their heads together and see what was 
to be made out of the information which Mr. Murkle had extracted. 
Or if a different impression was to be created, Mr. Murkle would 
lead the visitor with much solemnity into the apartment where the 
baron sat in great state engaged in a voluminous correspondence. 
They had one system for London, and another for Paris, and an- 
other for Florence, adapted to the usage of the respective countries; 
but they had not yet succeeded in establishing themselves socially 
in London society — their undertakings, so far, having necessitated 
their residence principally abroad ; and although not lacking in 
boldness of conception or skill in execution, these had not turned 
out so profitable as had been anticipated, and upon more than one 
occasion had involved an amount of sharp practice to avert disaster, 
which had left them with a reputation not altogether untarnished. 
Still, they had a reputation, such as it was. They were beginning 
to be well known as enterprising promoters and skilful operators, 
and they only needed a great coup to have the financial world at 
their feet. It was in connection with an undertaking which seemed 
calculated to realize their most sanguine expectations that Murkle 
had now telegraphed for the baron to join him in Paris; and as the 
affair was not one which could be concluded in a day, Grandesella 
had decided upon taking his wife and daughter with him, and had 
made up his mind to pass the winter there. He was the more in- 
clined to do this, as he had heard from his wife the dangers which 
threatened to disturb their domestic plans, by the growing intimacy 
of Ronald MacAlpine and Altiora, and which he determined to nip 
in the bud. Hence it was that, on the day following the events 
recorded in the last chapter, the asphalt of the Rue du dix-huit 
Mars, dix-huit cent soixante et onze, resounded with the clatter of 
the hoofs which notified the concierge of Ho. Quatre-vingt dix-huit 
that Baron Grandesella’s family and luggage were on the point of 
arrival, and brought that domestic functionary to the entrance of 
the port-cochlre cap in hand, and with an air of obsequiousness 
appropriate to the reception of a financial magnate. 

“I don’t think much of them port-cochers,” said Hannah, who 


ALTIORA PETO. 


33 


wanted to inspect the new arrivals, and was darning, with the aid 
of a pair of magnifiers, an open- worked stocking of Stella’s near 
the window; “they’ve been and driven right square into the yard. 
Why, he’s never a-goin’ to set up a store in this house ! I guess 
he must have chartered a whole car to take all that baggage.” 

For the next hour, to Hannah’s great annoyance, not unmingled 
with curiosity, there was such a clatter of trunks and porters past 
the door of the entresol, that at last she could stand it no longer, 
and walked boldly forth on a voyage of discovery, which led her 
to the landing above, which she passed as if bent on a mission to 
the upper regions, and then slowly descended, just in time to find 
Altiora and her maid struggling with a key in the refractory lock 
of a trunk at the open door of the antechamber. “Bless you, that 
ain’t no good, my dear young lady,” she remarked, calmly; “it 
needs being sat upon. Please allow me,” and she perched herself 
coolly on the resisting lid, which still refused to yield to the press- 
ure, and at this juncture Mr. Murkle appeared. 

“Welcome to Paris, dear Altiora,” said that gentleman, with a 
display of affection which was evidently not reciprocated, as she 
coldly gave him her hand. “Why, you’ve got a new maid !” he 
added, turning to inspect Hannah; for Mr. Murkle made it a point 
to be well informed in regard to the details of the baron’s establish- 
ment. But before she could reply Hannah, who, seated squarely on 
the box, with short petticoats, and feet an inch from the ground, 
was giving a spasmodic pressure, proceeding apparently from the 
base of the spine, broke in : 

“Just you come and sit down here alongside of me, and don’t 
talk,” she said, making room for him. “ I ain’t no new maid, and 
I wish I warn’t an old one. You don’t expect to make that key 
turn by standing staring at me, when just a mite more would do it? 
One would think the man had never seen a woman a-settin’ on a 
trunk before.” 

“ Who is this person, Altiora?” said Murkle, angrily; for Altiora’s 
maid had become utterly unable either to grapple with the lock, or 
to suppress the laughter with which she was internally convulsed. 

“I don’t know,” said Altiora, “except that she’s a very kind 
one.” 

“ Why, it’s no kindness at all, miss— only a common neighborly 
act, sich as I would expect you to do for me. I think it is for me 
to ask, who is this man as can leave a lady a-settin’ on a trunk, and 
all but getting it open, and refuses to come and help her? If that’s 
your grand Paris politeness as they make such a talk about, I say 
give me ’Merikan manners”— and she gave a sudden bump of in- 

3 


34 


ALTIORA PETO. 


dignation on the lid, which was exactly the “ mite ” it -needed, for 
the key turned, and she slipped off, and, turning to Altiora before 
Murkle had time to give vent to his indignation, said, ‘ ‘ Good-day, 
miss ; my young ladies and me live down on the ‘ entersoul, ’ I think 
they call it, and you’ll always be welcome;” and she stumped actively 
off, not a little pleased to think she had made an acquaintance for 
her young ladies of so promising an appearance. 

“Oh,” said Murkle, grimly, as he watched her prim, upright figure 
rapidly disappearing and remembered Hetherington’s explanations 
of the night before, “so that’s the old lady of the party ! I don’t 
wonder the young ones dispense with such a chaperon when they 
go to the theatre alone with young men. You have some neighbors 
below, Altiora, whom I know slightly, and I think it will be as well 
for you to let me find out something more about them before you 
accept this singular female’s invitation to make their acquaintance.” 

“ I should prefer to leave that responsibility to my mother,” said 
Altiora, significantly, as she ushered Murkle into the salon, and in- 
stantly vanished, upon the pretext of telling Madame Grandesella 
that he had arrived. As she opened the door the deep bass voice of 
the baron gushed through it, singing “Figaro qui, Figaro la,” and 
he promptly followed it into the room, extending both hands toward 
Murkle, with his usual manner of excessive cordiality. 

“Well, I’m glad it’s ‘Figaro qui’ at last; you’ve been running 
things pretty fine,” said the latter, “leaving me here all alone to 
answer inquiries, give explanations — ” 

“And invent lies,” interrupted the baron. “ Parbleu! my dear 
Dick, how could I pay you a higher compliment ? What earthly 
assistance would mine have been to your own brilliant imagination? 
Besides, I have not been idle. Tell him, Lalla mia ,” he went on, 
addressing the baroness, who just then entered the room, “how 
skilfully I baited the hook with our heiress, who is dying to see her 
noble cousin, and whose beauty and talents are only equal to her 
wealth. Ouf!” and the baron gave a grunt as if still fatigued with 
the labor of the task. 

“Lord Sark, it seems, was very suspicious,” said the baroness, 
coming to her husband’s relief. “He is, as you know, Altiora’s 
second cousin, but we have never been able to do more than make 
him admit the relationship. If we had been a band of Italian brig- 
ands, who wanted to capture him and carry him off to our moun- 
tains, to hold him for a ransom, he could not have been more wary 
during all these years. It is fortunate that British brigands exist 
who can play the same trick by the simple device of making a dis- 
tinguished nobleman the director of a joint-stock company, limited. 


ALTIORA PETO. 


35 


Philippo found him in great trouble, dreading liquidation, exposure, 
and I don’t know what more besides, unless he could find some 
great capitalists to come to the rescue.” 

“And Grandesella and Murkle, with their great financial connec- 
tion, are going to assume the liability of the company, and save his 
lordship from disgrace, I suppose?” said Murkle, cynically. “ And 
pray, what are we to get in return ?” 

“What a gloomy view of things you always take, mon cher, be- 
fore you thoroughly understand them !” said the baron. ‘ ‘ In the 
first place, I have gone carefully into all the patents possessed by 
the Universal Scintillator Company; and by becoming its possess- 
ors and making a contract disposing of it to the Dark Continent 
Electric Illumination Company, of which you and I, my dear Dick, 
are the promoters, we can retrieve the ruined fortunes of the one, 
and float the other, with the Earl of Sark as a sort of aristocratic 
trait d' union. We will entangle him, mon ami , in the meshes of 
our financial net until he is our slave, when we will marry him to 
Altiora; and, with rank at the helm and beauty at the prow, to bor- 
row the image of the poet, the bark of Grandesella and Murkle will 
breast the social waves until it is safely moored in the haven, let 
us say, of royalty — after that, titles, honors, decorations, political 
life, and fame. What say you, Sir Richard Murkle, Bart., M.P., 
G.C.M.G. ?” 

“I say,” said Murkle, “that it won’t work, for the very simple 
reason that I intend to marry Altiora myself; and you know very 
well, Laura,” he added, turning, with a fierce emphasis, on the bar- 
oness, “that neither you nor Philippo here, nor Altiora herself, can 
prevent me. You don’t suppose I became a partner in that little 
arrangement which we entered into eighteen years ago, when I re- 
signed Laura to you, Philippo, to be dictated to now?” 

“ Resigned me!” and a glance of very evil meaning shot from the 
baroness’s cold, gray eye like a poisoned dart, as she turned upon 
Murkle. “ Yes, you resigned me, because I refused you then, as I 
refuse my daughter to you now. She is not adapted for the role of 
a professional beauty, if that is how you mean to advance your 
fortunes in London,” she went on, with a sneer; “and even you 
could not force her to assume it.” 

“I think,” replied Murkle, rising, and speaking in a voice of sup- 
pressed passion, “the person best able to judge of that matter will 
be Altiora herself. There is that little mystery so familiar to us all, 
but of which she has been kept in ignorance, which, when I reveal 
it to her, as I propose to do at once, will put the matter beyond a 
doubt.” 


36 


ALTIORA VETO. 


“ Ta, ta, ta,” interrupted the baron, drumming his fingers on the 
table. “Don’t be so impetuous, Dick; and you, Lalla mia, don’t ag- 
% gravate our old friend. If you two can’t be bound by the cords of 
affection and long association, at least remember that we may all be 
ruined if you quarrel. Unity is force. For my part, I love you both: 
I never forget that we all hang by the same rope.” 

“ Not yet,” said Murkle, and his lip curled with a sinister smile. 
“I think we had better not discuss how many ropes we may hang 
by. The subject is not a pleasant one, but I did not start it. I am 
glad you recognize, Philippo, that you cannot make any plans with 
regard to Altiora without consulting me first. If you always bear 
that in mind, there need be no question of hanging.” 

“ Sapristi! what a knack you have of raking up unpleasant top- 
ics ! How was I to know that you had placed your battered affec- 
tions upon the girl you’ve known ever since she was born? Let me 
see : as you say, that’s more than eighteen years ago now, and the 
house of Grandesella was an obscure commission agency, in an ob- 
scure Italian town, and Richard Murkle was an obscure clerk in it 
then.” 

“And Laura was an obscure and disconsolate widow, whom I 
resigned in favor of my obscure employer, upon condition of being 
made a partner in the firm,” interrupted Murkle. 

“And who made both your fortunes by the money she brought 
with her,” added the baroness, tartly. 

“ Basta /” said the baron, “let us have no more of this. We 
none of us could have got on without the other ; if we fall out 
some honest man, if there is such a thing, will get his rights — you 
know the old proverb. Let us leave the marriage question and get 
back to business. I have told Lord Sark that he must come over 
here and satisfy himself in regard to the terms of the concession, by 
which he becomes a co-proprietor with us of the extensive privileges 
we have obtained, if he can persuade the board, of which he is the 
chairman, to hand over the company to us at our own terms, which, 
considering the difficulties they are in, can, I think, be satisfactorily 
arranged. Of the merits of my project financially there can be no 
question, Dick, as you will see when we go into it together. If you 
don’t agree to its advantages matrimonially, we will try another 
combination. In the mean time Ora has been most useful as a 
decoy. She’s a young lady with a will of her own, and if you can 
force her inclinations neither Lalla nor I will interfere;” and he cast 
a covert glance at his wife, who seemed on the lookout for it, and 
who snapped it up so dexterously that it was undetected by the 
sharp eyes of Murkle. 


ALTIORA PETO. 


37 


“Dear Altiora!” she remarked; “I am afraid slie lias thrown 
away her heart upon Mr. MacAlpine, and that both Richard and 
Lord Sark will have some trouble with her. ” 

Murkle turned an uneasy look of mistrust at the baroness at this 
observation. “I won’t trouble you to inform me who Mr. Mac- 
Alpine is,” he said, “of whom I now hear for the first time, or what 
the state of Altiora’s affections may be, as I have the girl herself to 
apply to, and can rely upon her veracity,” and he emphasized the 
last two words. “Now, Philippo, I am ready to attend to the 
expose of your project.” 

The baroness, who was accustomed to assist at these deliberations, 
took up her knitting, and followed the two men as they plunged 
into the intricacies of those financial combinations — that were after- 
ward to appear in a very different form in an attractive prospectus 
— with a subtle apprehension of their mysteries, which could only 
have been acquired by long practice, from time to time interposing 
observations, to which both men listened with a respect rarely ac- 
corded to the fair sex where such matters are concerned. The tri- 
umvirate protracted the seance until even Murkle was convinced 
that the Earl of Sark and his “company” might be turned to a 
most profitable account to themselves, if not to his lordship ; and 
under the soothing influence of the delightful prospect thus opened, 
and the persuasive accents of the baron, who was an adept in the 
art of peacemaking, when it suited his purpose, mutual confidence 
was to all appearance restored, and the tacit understanding arrived 
at that nothing was to be gained by anticipating the complications 
likely to arise when the force of circumstances should compel de- 
cided action to be taken with regard to the destiny of the girl, 
round whom so many interests, both of heart and pocket, seemed 
likely to centre. 


CHAPTER V. 

SARK AND “THE CLYMER.” 

The Earl of Sark was one of the best known and most popular 
men in London. When, at the age of three-and-twenty, he had a 
few years before seconded the Address in the House of Lords, he 
captured in his first sentence a whole file of peers’ daughters, who 
had obtained seats in the gallery on that occasion. In his second 
their mammas began critically to examine him through their eye- 
glasses, and devise schemes for his capture in the matrimonial net. 
With the third he made his first point, and the leader of the Oppo- 


38 


ALTIORA PETO. 


sition pricked liis ears, and felt that a young gladiator had entered 
the arena who was likely to give trouble, and prove an inconvenient 
re - enforcement to the enemy. And when he had concluded his 
fourth the whole of his own side burst forth in a well-modulated 
and guardedly enthusiastic “Hear, hear,” which so excited Sark’s 
intimate friend, young St. Olave, that that impetuous young noble- 
man, who had taken his seat for the first time, in an unguarded mo- 
ment actually clapped his hands, thus, though he instantly checked 
himself, producing a shiver of dismay throughout the august assem- 
bly, from which it did not recover for some moments, and from the 
effects of which the noble lord on the woolsack suffered until din- 
ner-time. By the time Sark had concluded his brilliant oration his 
best friends began to regret bitterly that he should have been thrown 
away upon the Lords. It was evident that he had the right stuff in 
him, and he was just the sort of man the party needed sadly in the 
Lower House. That evening all London — by which I mean all the 
people who crowded to the three drums between which they oscil- 
lated — talked of nothing but Sark’s speech; and that nobleman was 
quite tired of looking modest, and receiving and deprecating com- 
pliments, until he staggered off to bed under the weight of his hon- 
ors, the happiest and most triumphant man in England. It was 
generally admitted that he was the most eligible parti of the season. 
Fairly rich, an earl of ancient lineage, and with an undoubted talent, 
which should place him in the first rank of the statesmen of his day, 
he had all the necessary matrimonial requirements — added to this 
the secondary considerations, that he was extremely good-looking, 
of a frank, generous nature, and reported by his contemporaries to 
have good principles, and we cannot wonder that young ladies, when 
they saw him approaching in a ball-room, fluttered their fans with a 
slightly enhanced vigor, arising from nervous agitation, while their 
cheeks sometimes flushed faintly, and their eyelids drooped timidly 
— in the case of debutantes aware that the maternal eye was upon 
them at these trying moments. The more seasoned ones took an- 
other line, and carried him off to corners, in mortal dread of his fall- 
ing a prey to some unprincipled young married woman, who, hav- 
ing made her own game, continued to poach unrestrainedly on the 
preserves of her younger sisters on promotion. Such, in fact, in 
spite of all their precautions, actually occurred ; and just as the 
Duchess of Pentonville had flattered herself that her eldest girl, 
Lady Adeliza, had finally landed him at her feet, mother and daugh- 
ter saw him, to their dismay, fairly and apparently irrevocably 
hooked by “that horrid Mrs. Clymer.” Mrs. Clymer was never 
called anything else by a certain class of mothers but “that horrid 


ALTIORA PETO. 


39 


Mrs. Clymer.” Sometimes tlie epitliet was “disgusting;” hut that 
was only when some tale was narrated, “quite between ourselves, 
you know, my dear.” As a general rule the epithet was thought too 
strong, as there was no circle, however exalted, in which Mrs. Cly- 
mer had not achieved success. There had always been a halo of 
mystery about her, which added immensely to her prestige. You 
had only to look af her to feel that her life had been a romance. If 
you were sentimental yourself, she could put on an air which at once 
touched you — for you felt that she was a woman that had suffered. 
If you were an artist, you saw by the exquisite taste of her dress 
that she had a soul which could soar above that baser region of 
modern aestheticism into the purer region of a still more sublime 
conception of what constitutes pure art. If you were horsey, she 
would give you a lead across country ; and if you asked her where 
she learned to be at once so daring and so graceful in the hunting- 
field, she would fling back her wind-tossed locks recklessly and tell 
you “in the Pampas of South America.” If you were musical, she 
had the voice of a siren — and notes which, with a running accom- 
paniment of glances, and “variations” on the feelings, vibrated to 
your very soul. Her lithe, supple figure moved gracefully, without 
affectation. Her soft, white hand possessed a power of thrilling 
when you clasped it which was simply marvellous— she would have 
said magnetic. Her little foot, with its high-arched instep, had been 
immortalized by a sculptor at Rome, and may be seen any day in its 
nude perfection on the mantel-piece of her perfectly furnished little 
house in Mayfair — where there is a sanctum to which only intimates 
are admitted, containing many curious articles of virtu and interest- 
ing relics, which she keeps as reminiscences of her former life; for 
Mrs. Clymer has lived much and widely. She had only been a sea- 
son or two in London when she captured Lord Sark, and was then 
not much over thirty; but she looked a mere girl, and took society by 
storm by the force of her accomplishments— her ready wit, her ingen- 
ious audacity, her extreme loveliness, and air of ineffable innocence. 
For two or three seasons before that she had frequented the water- 
ing-places in Europe which are the most affected by the British ar- 
istocracy; and they admitted her freely, because she said she was 
American. And so she was, so far as nationality was concerned, 
but Americans denied all knowledge of her in their own country. 
This she explained by the fact that her father, though a citizen of 
the United States, had been an officer in the army of some South 
American republic, where she was born, and that he had subse- 
quently, on the death of his first wife, entered into speculations con- 
nected with torpedoes in the Mediterranean, where he had married 


40 


ALTIORA PR TO. 


a Levantine ; and thus she had acquired the knowledge of most 
European languages, in which she was a proficient, and the fortune 
which he left her at his death, after having separated from his 
second wife. But all these details are hazy and obscure, and sub- 
ject to modification, as they are a sort of patchwork result from 
scraps of information, extracted at various times by different people. 
There was another history, quite different, which begins in the 
Levant, with a good deal of Italy thrown in, and ends with South 
America. Probably, if anybody had ever seen Mr. Clymer, that 
gentleman could have thrown some important light on the whole 
matter: Mr. Clymer was the individual with whom so much mys- 
terious suffering was connected. He seemed to have behaved badly 
on some occasion in Asia Minor; but the subject was evidently so 
painful that no one was heartless enough to press for information. 
He had married her for her fortune, of which, however, she seemed 
to have saved a good deal, and then ill-treated her, or deserted her, 
or deceived her. He, too, was said to be an American, and was 
supposed to be living, if he was living at all, in California; but Mrs. 
Clymer so plainly gave it to be understood that any reference to this 
mythical individual was painful to her, that society readily conceded 
it was nobody’s business but Mrs. Clymer’s. There was nothing 
American about her, at all events. She was thoroughly cosmopol- 
itan — indeed, so much, that she and the American Minister have 
never been good friends since the celebrated occasion when he made 
a difficulty about her presentation at court. Mrs. Clymer was not 
a woman to be baffled, and eventually carried the day, and has 
taken her revenge ever since by holding up her own countrymen 
and countrywomen to ridicule upon every possible occasion. What 
gives Mrs. Clymer her great hold on London society is the hypo- 
thetical existence of Mr. Clymer: she is just enough married to be 
a safe person to fall in love with. There can be no possible danger 
of having to marry her, “because of Clymer, you know.” Match- 
making mammas became anxious to verify the fact of Clymer’s non- 
existence ; because, if Mrs. Clymer was either a widow, or had 
never been married — and conjecture, in regard to her, stuck at 
nothing — then, if they could marry her to some weak-minded noble- 
man, and be done with her, it would be a great riddance of a matri- 
monial obstacle. Moreover, the more widespread and well-founded 
the suspicion of Clymer’s non-existence became, the more likely 
were lovers to become demoralized, for fear of possible conse- 
quences. When Sark fell a victim society at large uttered a gen- 
eral groan of dismay. The mothers were enraged, the daughters 
dejected, the politicians nervous and disappointed. “ That woman 


ALTIORA PETO. 


41 


Clymer will be the min of Sark,” said Lord Basinghall; “he has 
utterly given up all interest in ‘ The Foot-and-Mouth Disease Bill ’ 
ever since she got hold of him. They say that story of her having 
a fortune of her own is a pure invention ; that she is in debt for the 
rent of her house, and for everything there is in it; that it has all 
been lent her on speculation by some enterprising usurer, and now 
that Sark is paying all her debts, with interest. His infatuation 
is something incredible. Not but that she is as handsome as a Peri, 
and as innocent-looking.” 

“They say he was offered office the other day, and refused it — 
couldn’t spare the time. Talks of taking Mrs. Clymer a cruise 
round the world in his yacht, with Hurst and Lady Dolly to do 
proper. I never knew a woman go to the bad so fast as Lady Dolly 
has since she has become the amie intime of the Clymer,” added 
Lysper, a young Guardsman, who had been making furious love to 
Mrs. Clymer until Sark’s appearance on the scene had rendered any 
farther pursuit hopeless. 

“I have been trying to persuade Sark to give up that idea,” said 
Lord St. Olave, mournfully, “and I think I have succeeded. He 
says he must do something to economize. I hear he lost a lot on 
the Ascot Cup day. I never knew him bet before ; but it seems that 
woman made it a test of his affection to back some horse she has 
an interest in. I believe she is a professional gambler, and goes in 
for a lot of speculations on the sly, in spite of all her demure ways.” 

“I know she dabbles in City things,” said Lysper. “ I used con- 
stantly to meet a stock-broking cad at her house, who used to wor- 
ship at that shrine when I was amusing myself there; and there was 
always a mysterious whisper before he took his departure, which I 
am sure meant business of some sort.” 

“Say, rather, mischief,” said Basinghall. “Poor Sark! It is 
really heart-breaking to think what a loss he is to the party. It is 
like the measles, and must run its course ; it’s impossible to do any- 
thing to save him now — he’s too far gone.” 

So it happened that Lord Sark’s finances, becoming embarrassed 
under the influence of the fair adventuress, he plunged into City 
speculations, with the aid of the young stock-broker above men- 
tioned, to retrieve them, having much faith in that gentleman’s ex- 
perience and Mrs. Clymer’s sagacity — a confidence which turned 
out to be quite misplaced ; and he was just in the agonies of the 
financial dilemma alluded to by Baron Grandesella when that astute 
financier proposed to rescue him, if he would pay a visit to Paris to 
be enlightened as to certain combinations by which he was to be- 
come part proprietor of the concessions obtained by the promoters 


42 


ALTIORA PETO. 


of the Dark Continent Electric Illumination Company, and derive 
immense profits as chairman of that company, when it had been 
successfully floated upon a confiding public. Sark felt rather ner- 
vous when he had decided upon this step without first consulting 
Mrs. Clymer, and broke it to that lady with a degree of trepidation 
which turned out to have been unnecessary. She was just in the 
humor for a trip to Paris, she said. The London season was still 
in the distance, and the idea of new financial combinations charmed 
her almost as much as the prospect of renewing her toilet at Sark’s 
expense, and her intimacy with her old friend Worth, who, it was 
said, or rather she said, had from time to time been indebted to her 
for some of his best ideas; and she assured Sark he allowed her a 
heavy discount in consequence. They did not, however, come over 
by the same train, or even go to the same hotel ; for though their 
relations were tolerably notorious, they still respected the external 
proprieties; indeed, Mrs. Clymer had discovered that her intimacy 
with so distinguished a nobleman, so far from injuring her position 
in London society, had distinctly the effect of consolidating it. 
Many country houses were now open to her, because Sark was al- 
most certain to refuse unless “that horrid Mrs. Clymer” was asked 
— he was such a charming social addition; so, for the matter of that, 
was she. And as they both made a point of exerting themselves to 
the utmost under these circumstances, it cannot be denied that their 
presence contributed largely to the success of these rural aristocratic 
gatherings. Moreover, there was a certain relief in finding that Mrs. 
Clymer was provided for, even at so great a sacrifice; and she no 
longer was pronounced so “horrid,” now that she had given up 
“flirting all over the place,” as Lysper elegantly expressed it. 
Though neither the Grandesellas nor Murkle had ever seen her, 
they were familiar with her photograph in the shop-w T indows, and 
with her reputation in the social weeklies; and were too conversant 
with the weaknesses of human nature to suppose for a moment that 
she would allow Lord Sark to come to Paris alone. Though her 
name had not been mentioned in the discussion which had taken 
place about Altiora, it had been present in the minds of all three ; 
and they all saw in her a possible ally, whose merits they were too 
divided in sentiment at that moment to discuss. The baron thought 
that when it came to the point she could be bought off— he had an 
unbounded belief in the power of money; the baroness saw in her a 
trump-card, which might be played with advantage when she took 
her hand in the social rubber of her first London season ; and 
Murkle saw a dangerous rival to Altiora in Sark’s affections, whose 
jealousy he would not be slow to excite if necessary. It was to this 


ALTIORA PETO. 


43 


hornet’s nest that the unconscious Sark glided at the rate of thirty- 
miles an hour in the train -which conveyed him from Boulogne to 
Paris. 

It would be instructive hut tedious, as most instructive things are, 
if I were to attempt to describe the intricacies of the financial net in 
which the Paris triumvirate entangled Sark, by means of a dexter- 
ous combination of the two companies in whose fortunes he was 
destined to become so deeply involved. The process was rapid, and 
skilfully managed. For the first two or three days Grandesella and 
Murkle saw him alone ; then, when he was sufficiently muddled by 
the jargon of financial detail, and dazzled by prospective results, 
they descended to the topics and necessities of every-day life, of 
which eating is one of the most essential, and Sark was in due time 
committed to a dinner with the baroness and Altiora, which he re- 
turned by another at the Cafe Anglais, at which the whole party 
met Mrs. Clymer, who said she always came to Paris at this season, 
and was so delighted to find that she had accidentally so timed her 
visit as to meet Lord Sark, and expressed her eternal gratitude to 
the baron and baroness for having been the means of bringing him 
over so opportunely. She seemed instinctively to find in Murkle a 
kindred spirit, and her voice sank to such a sympathetic cadence, 
her large eyes beamed upon him so languidly and so confidingly, 
and her cheek flushed so slightly as they exchanged glances for the 
third time, that Sark, who happened to look up at the moment, felt 
a twinge of jealousy, and took another survey of Murkle from quite 
a new point of view. “ So my astute financial friend aspires to be 
a lady-killer,” he thought, and then laughed away his suspicion, as 
he felt the Clymer’s gaze burning into his soul. He was so accus- 
tomed to the sensation that he did not need to look up to know that 
she was waiting to reassure him by an unuttered language, of which 
he had learned to read every secret. So this dinner, which was only 
the prelude to many succeeding ones, passed otf very well. The 
only discordant note in the party was Altiora ; but as this history 
could never have been written were it not for the access which I 
happen to have had to that young lady’s own journal, her experi- 
ences can best be narrated in her own words. 


44 


ALTIOBA PETO. 


CHAPTER VI. 

ALTIORA CAPTURED BY THE CALIFORNIANS. 

At last the baron and mamma have achieved the great object 
of their ambition, and have captured Lord Sark. “ Altiora,” said 
mamma, when he called, “let me introduce you to your cousin, Lord 
Sark.” I thought his lordship winced slightly; but that may have 
been imagination — he was too well-bred to show anything but cord- 
iality; but we had no mutual relations to talk about, which made 
it awkward. 

“I have another cousin in Paris,” he said at last, with a smile, 
“whom I must look up. He is quite an Oriental pundit, and buries 
himself in the ancient literature of the Zoroastrians, or some other 
extinct species. Have you ever met Bob Alderney?” 

As I had never even heard of him I was obliged to confess my 
ignorance, and tried to engage Lord Sark in a discussion in regard 
to the pursuits of this other new-found relative, with whom I may 
possibly find some interests in common ; but I soon became instinct- 
ively conscious that I was boring him, or rather that he was boring 
himself. Neither mamma nor I could discuss London society, nor 
politics, nor sport; we tried art, but he seemed to know nothing 
about it. There was left finance, about which I knew mamma was 
dying to talk to him, but felt that it would not be discreet; and 
when he alluded to Mr. Murkle I felt sympathetically toward him, 
as a fellow-victim who was to be pounced upon. I shall warn him 
about this the first time I have an opportunity. It certainly is an 
anomalous position morally for a girl to find herself in, but I feel 
that I owe it to the late Mr. Peto to be a traitor in the family camp. 
Dear papa ! I am certain he must have been the soul of honor, from 
the overpowering inclination which possesses me to unearth villany 
and expose hypocrisy, wherever I meet it. I am sure there is a 
serious side to Sark. He told me always to call him Sark, in an 
undertone, which mamma did not hear. I suppose it is the fashion 
between second cousins in the aristocracy. At all events he is 
worth saving, merely as a human being. He is certainly honest, 
and has a heart; but I suppose he has what mamma calls “the vices 
common to young men,” whatever these may be. How much I 
have of life yet to learn before I can make myself of any practical 


ALT ion A PETO. 


45 


use to others ! It is ridiculous to suppose that, because I am a girl, 
I cannot do good, honest service to young men. Pure conventional- 
ism, which I am determined to break through! 

******* 

We have just come home from dining with Sark. He invited an 
American lady, Mrs. Clymer, to meet us. As soon as I touched her 
hand I felt a slight shiver and a painful constriction of the chest. 
The only other person who sometimes affects me in the same way 
is Richard Murkle, but then the pain is generally in the temples. I 
wonder how doctors account for this? I suppose they would tell 
me it is imagination, and did not exist at all ; but not only do I 
know, as a positive fact, that it exists, but I know vaguely what it 
means. There is something radically wrong about that woman, 
and she feels that I know it. I was puzzling over the various 
phenomena she presented to me, when I suddenly looked up and 
caught her eye fully before she had time to lower it. For a second 
all the blood left her face, and then came back with a rush. I sup- 
pose blushing and faintness are imagination too, and don’t exist at 
all. If the look of one person at another can produce a flush or a 
pallor, why may the emotion not be intensified until it is felt as a 
pain? And if a look can do it, why should not a touch do it still 
more effectually? What passes from eye to eye to produce this 
effect may surely pass from hand to hand. It must be a moral 
force of some kind, ‘ ‘ acting ” on what the doctors call the nerves. 
That word ‘ * acting ” is very convenient. It entirely dispenses with 
any explanation of how the acting is done, so it is a good deal used by 
scientific men. It is quite evident, at any rate, that I was “ acting” 
on Mrs. Clymer, and Mrs. Clymer was “reacting” on me. We did 
not require to say anything to each other to do this. She was doing 
a good deal of acting all round. She was acting on Murkle, who is 
too swarthy to blush, but there is an almost imperceptible twitch in 
the muscle of his upper lip on these occasions ; and she was acting 
on Sark, who sighed. Neither the baron nor mamma seemed to feel 
her influence in the slightest degree. When we parted, and Mrs. 
Clymer took both my hands in hers and looked lovingly into my 
eyes, with a face of radiant innocence and gushing affection, and 
said, “Dear Miss Peto, I am so glad to have had this opportunity 
of making your acquaintance. We have all been so merry to-night 
that I have not had a chance of really talking to you, but I feel sure 
we shall be great friends. You must let me see a great deal of you ” 
— when she said all this, with much effusion, I felt that she was mak- 
ing a deliberate declaration of war to the knife; and she knew I felt 
it, by the warmth with which I returned her pressure, and which 


46 


ALTIOliA VETO. 


seemed quite to please Lord Sark, who said, “ Good-bye, Altiora,” 
to my mother’s great delight. 

Going down-stairs yesterday, I met my elderly friend, who had 
so much scandalized Mr. Murkle by asking him to sit with her on 
the lid of my trunk. She was standing at the open door of the 
entresol, talking to a beautiful girl who had evidently just come in 
from a walk. “Why, here’s the very young lady herself!” she said, 
holding out her hand to me with the greatest cordiality. ‘ ‘ I was 
just a-sayin’ to Mattie — Stella, I mean,” she corrected herself, “as, 
bein’ all strangers together in a strange land, and such near neigh- 
bors, it was only becoming as we should go and see whether you 
wasn’t feelin’ kinder lonely like, with your par pa and marma out so 
much.” She laid the emphasis on the first syllable of the words 
papa and mamma, as if I was a lisping infant. 

The lady she called Mattie, and then Stella blushed slightly as she 
bowed, and said, “I must apologize for so informal an introduction; 
but I was just explaining to my friend here that our being strangers 
and neighbors scarcely warranted our taking the liberty she sug- 
gests, though I am very glad” — and she looked at me with such 
frank, truthful eyes that my heart warmed to her at once— “of 
any accident which may give me the pleasure of making your 
acquaintance.” 

“Well, there ain’t no use standing talking out here in the cold, 
anyway, ’’broke in her companion; “ so come in and have a cup of 
tea. This is Miss Walton — my! now, if I didn’t as near as any- 
thing say Miss Terrill! — and Miss Terrill is in-doors.” 

There must have been a good deal of what the Americans call 
‘ ‘ personal magnetism ” in the old lady, for I yielded unresistingly 
to her will, explaining to Miss Walton as I did so that ever since 
my first meeting with her friend I had cherished a hope that we 
might become acquainted. 

A girl was sitting reading as we entered the salon, and my first 
friend, who seemed inclined to take all the responsibility of my in- 
troduction upon herself, said, “Here, Mattie — laws! now, if I warn’t 
jist a-goin’ to say Stella !— here’s Miss — I didu’t rightly catch your 
name — come to see you.” 

“Altiora Peto,” I said, laughing. 

“ Now, you mustn’t apologize,” interrupted Miss Walton, seeing I 
was going to excuse my abrupt entrance. ‘ ‘ This is Mattie Terrill, 
and this is Hannah Coffin, one of the old New Hampshire Coffins. 
Though she has been a long time away from New England, she 
has a good deal of the old Puritan ring to her still — haven’t you, 
Hannah?” 


ALTIORA PETO. 


47 


But Hannah had no time to reply, for Miss Terrill was expressing 
her welcome; and in half an hour we were sitting over our tea like 
old friends. 

I confess I was very nervous as to how I should break the fact of 
my new acquaintances to my mother, who would be sure to treat 
them with the utmost rudeness if, as was most probable, she did not 
approve of the whole proceeding; and I was haunted by the vision 
of an abrupt termination of an intercourse which, from its original- 
ity, I was beginning to enjoy immensely. I thought it best to pre- 
pare the minds of my new acquaintances for this eventuality, and 
yet it was a most difficult matter to approach. As I was meditating 
upon it. Miss Terrill said, 

“ I think we know a friend of yours — Mr. Murkle. He promised 
to make us acquainted before your arrival.” 

This rather astonished me, and led to a whole history of their first 
visit to the theatre, under the guidance of Miss Terrill’s cousin, Mr. 
Hetherington, and Mr. Alderney, who turns out to be none other 
than my own unseen cousin, Bob, first brought to my consciousness 
by Lord Sark. 

“ Why, you don’t say!” laughed Miss Terrill, as she clapped her 
hands, after listening to my explanation. “ Then he’s your cousin 
too, and we’re all cousins! Well, now, ain’t this perfectly lovely! 
This is a new version of ‘Our American Cousin,’ and we’ll call 
Lord Sark, Lord Dundreary.” 

We had just arrived at this satisfactory conclusion when the 
timbre sounded, and in walked Mr. Hetherington and Mr. Alderney. 

“Mr. Alderney,” said Miss Walton, her eyes dancing with mis- 
chief, “let me introduce to you your cousin, Miss Altiora Peto.” 

Mr. Alderney, who was evidently a shy man, was overcome with 
embarrassment at being thus unexpectedly brought face to face 
with an unknown relative, and apparently had a strong suspicion 
that he was being made the subject of chaff; but he had too much 
politeness under the circumstances to give vent to it, so he only 
bowed and murmured something about being too delighted. 

“ Lady Mary Alderney, who married General Peto, was my grand- 
mother,” I said, by way of explanation. “I suppose you know 
that Lord Sark is in Paris?” 

Mr. Alderney said that they had exchanged notes, but had not 
met, and then the conversation became general. I was surprised to* 
fin d that they all seemed more or less distantly connected, and called 
each other by their Christian names, and were evidently on terms of 
the greatest intimacy, which was the more remarkable, as neither 
Mr. Hetherington nor Mr. Alderney had been in America, and this 


48 


ALTIORA FETO. 


was the first visit of the young ladies to Europe. It was a decided 
relief to my mind when I discovered that Miss Walton was a great 
heiress. This would quite reconcile my mother to the irregularity 
of the circumstances under which I had made their acquaintance, 
and to the fact that they were travelling without any other chaperon 
than Miss Coffin, who seemed to live with them on terms of perfect 
equality, though evidently a person who had not enjoyed the same 
advantages of education and social training as her friends. 

There was something so refreshing in the originality and spon- 
taneity of the whole party — in the utter absence of conventionality, 
and in the genuine warmth of natures not yet chilled by contact 
with what is called polite society — that I felt myself expanding and 
reviving under its influence, like a tropical plant rescued from the 
frost and put into a hot-house. I was just allowing myself the full 
luxury of the sensation, when I detected a suppressed sigh, and a 
whispered “Poor darling!” unheard by the others, who were all 
talking together, and found Miss Coffin’s black eyes, which com- 
bined a singular benevolence of expression with a very piercing 
quality, fixed upon me. 

“ Guess I’ve got to kiss you: I don’t know what come to me that 
I did not think of it sooner. You need to be loved, my dearie — 
that’s what’s the matter with you,” she murmured, as she put her 
arms round me. “ You go on talking, and don’t mind us,” she said, 
sharply, turning to the others, whose conversation had been sus- 
pended by the movement. “ Time enough to stare like that,” she 
added, turning to Mr. Alderney, who had put his glass in his eye, 
the better to observe her proceedings, “when it comes to your turn.” 
Upon which he dropped it, with a blush, and both the girls laughed 
heartily, and I resigned myself to her ministrations with a sensation 
of calm content which was entirely new to me; and yet all she did 
was to sit by my side and hold my hand, without speaking, with a 
fixed, dreamy look into my face. “ You’re a-goin’ to have trouble,” 
she said, after a pause; “and if I’m anywhere about when it comes, 
you come to old Hannah. I’ve never been a mother,” she added, 
with a sigh, “and I ain’t comfortable and fleshy to lean upon; but 
I’ve got a mother’s heart, my dear, and when I feel a drawin’ to any 
one, like I do to you, it’s because I’ve got a use to ’em somehow. 
Now, it don’t seem to me, so far as I can feel, as you ever rightly 
fcnew what a mother’s love was. Well, well, I’ve known mother- 
love kill a mother, same as I’ve known the want of it to kill a 
daughter. It all happened in my own family. I had two sisters, 
my dear, and one of ’em married a man as wasn’t of much account, 
against our mother’s will, and mother would never see her again; 


ALTIORA PETO. 


49 


and she took it to heart so she died. And the other sister married, 
and had a daughter as married a mighty rich man ; hut he was 
downright bad, and she left him, and she was that proud she never 
let it be known where she had gone to; and her mother — that’s my 
sister — never could hear of her again; and so she took it to heart, 
and pined for that daughter till she died. It comes of feelings not 
being properly divided, my dear. Why on airth do heartless moth- 
ers have lovin’ daughters, and heartless daughters have lovin’ moth- 
ers? Well, well, it’s all a puzzle. 

“ I feel that sensitive, my dear,” she continued, after a pause, “to 
people as I feel a d rawin’ to, that I know when they are bein’ starved 
for love by a chill as catches me all about the heart. It gets to feel 
cold and withered up like — just as though a lump of ice was in my 
chest that was a-meltin’ away and leaving nothing. The way I 
know who it is as is suffering is because of the sudden love I feel 
for them, that seems to rush into that cold, -empty place. That tells 
me I can do ’em good, and I can feel it sorter cornin’ back to me 
from the person. Now, dearie, you just keep on a-lovin’ me all you 
have a mind to. Why, old and thin as I am, I’ve got a life in me as 
will build you right square up.” Then she stopped abruptly, and 
after a moment added, in a sharp tone, which contrasted strangely 
with the wonderful tenderness of her voice hitherto, “Come into 
the corner — we’re too near them chattering folks here now;” and 
she added, when we could talk more freely, “ I want you to tell me 
all about your mother.” 

Even if I had desired, which I did not, it would have been impos- 
sible for me to have resisted the impulse which I felt to take this 
stranger into the confidences of my heart. There was such a com- 
pleteness of comprehension in her sympathy; she seemed to divine 
my meaning so far beyond what it was possible for me to express in 
words; her faculty of intuitive perception was so infinitely more 
acute than anything I had ever met with in any individual before, 
and so much at variance with the external impression produced by 
her apparent lack of education and refinement, that I felt more and 
more surprised at the union of such exquisite tenderness and sensi- 
bility with so much that was strange and uncouth. When, after 
describing the influences by which I was surrounded, I went on to 
give her some idea of my own views and aspirations, she listened 
as one to whom such thoughts were familiar — who had fathomed 
depths upon the edge of which I was timidly venturing, and at- 
tempted flights the possibility of which I was only dimly contem- 
plating. Time slipped by so rapidly that I felt I was only begin- 
ning to unburden myself, when I was recalled to a recollection of 

4 


50 


ALT10RA PETO. 


its flight by Mr. Hetherington and Mr. Alderney getting up to take 
their leave. 

“I shall see Lord Sark to-morrow, and ask him to introduce me 
to Baron and Baroness Grandesella,” he said, “ when I hope often 
to have the pleasure of seeing you.” 

“My! how stiff you English are !” said Mattie. “ She’s your own 
cousin. Why don’t you just run up-stairs and call at once? We can 
find out from the concierge whether the baroness has come in. ” 

“No, no,” he replied, smiling; “ it is as well to be on the safe side. 
First I’ll call with Sark, and he’ll introduce me; then I’ll call with 
Keith, and introduce him ; then we’ll bring Sark here, and introduce 
him to you ; then we’ll expatiate on your merits to the Grandesellas, 
and bring Sark’s influence to bear, and they’ll come and call on you ; 
then you return their visit ; then we’ll all set sail together and go 
down before the wind.” 

“And Mr. Murkle and Mrs. Clymer,” I mentally ejaculated as I 
listened to this programme, “they’ll want to go down before the 
wind too. I fear me it will be an ill wind, but I trust it may blow 
‘ somebody good.’ ” 

“ Good-bye, and God bless you, my dearie,” said Hannah — I can’t 
call her Miss Coffin any more — giving me a last embrace. ‘ ‘ That’s 
right,” she said, turning to Mattie and Stella as they too kissed me; 
“ you make much of her — she’s worth it.” 

“You bet,” said Stella, laughing. “Now, you gentlemen mustn’t 
be shocked if I occasionally indulge in slang — I’ll only do it when 
we’re quite alone; but there are moments— such, for instance, as a 
parting like this — when it’s a relief to one’s feelings. One must say 
something, and I was brought up with a prejudice against swearing.” 


CHAPTER YU. 

MRS. CLYMER MEANS MISCHIEF. 

The more Mr. Murkle saw of Mrs. Clymer the more he felt con- 
vinced, not only that she was a person whom it would be more de- 
sirable to have as a friend than as an enemy, but that she might, 
under the circumstances, be especially valuable to him in the former 
capacity. He, therefore, determined to cultivate her acquaintance; 
and when he asked her what was her usual hour for receiving, she 
quite understood, and so did he, that one which Lord Sark was not 
likely to choose was the one which would suit them both best. For 
she, too, felt instinctively that in Murkle she would find a natural 


ALTIORA PETO. 


51 


and congenial ally. If lie was afraid of Lord Sark’s attractions as 
a possible husband for Altiora, she no less dreaded the fascination 
which Altiora might possess for Lord Sark. While she saw in him 
a financier whom she might turn to profitable account for herself, 
he saw in her a confederate through whom he might hold the baron 
and baroness in check, if he had reason to suspect they were play- 
ing him false. Moreover, there were two or three weak points in 
the financial combination to which Lord Sark had become a party 
which it was not impossible that she might detect; and he felt that 
it was desirable, therefore, that they should discuss the matter fully, 
and arrange the nature of the participation in it of Mrs. Clymer 
herself. It was a great relief to Murkle to find, after thoroughly 
explaining the whole subject to that lady, that, though undoubtedly 
an unusually clever woman, her business capacity was decidedly 
inferior to that of the baroness, who had been trained principally 
by Murkle himself ; and he was easily able to satisfy her that Sark 
was in good hands, so far as his pecuniary prospects were con- 
cerned, and to obtain from her a promise of cordial co-operation 
on terms which he could easily afford to offer. It is wonderful 
how a conversation, conducted upon purely business principles be- 
tween two people of opposite sexes, who are neither of them over- 
burdened with scruples of conscience, creates a rapid intimacy. 
Each feels a relief as each recognizes in the other a breadth of 
view, where moral questions are concerned, which, curiously enough, 
instead of inspiring mistrust, produces rather a sense of admiration. 
They each conjecture that there must be a point to which it would 
not be safe to go without shocking the other, and they may possibly 
each wonder if the other suspects how remote that point is; but so 
long as the necessity does not arise there is evidently no use in 
going to it. In this confidential intercourse both feel the same 
scorn of hypocrisy, both the same impulse to a sort of frankness 
which engenders a certain sympathy; and Mr. Murkle and Mrs. 
Clymer could not have felt more intimately acquainted, if they had 
known each other for years, than at the end of their first two hours’ 
chat over the way in which the public were expected to contribute 
to the pecuniary resources of the contractors and promoters of the 
Dark Continent Electric Illumination Company. Indeed, it is prob- 
able that the result of a long acquaintanceship would have left them 
very much less friendly than they were now. 

“Is it true that Miss Peto will have a large fortune of her own, 
or is she dependent on Baron Grandesella?” asked Mrs. Clymer. 

“The baroness brought a large fortune to the baron on her mar- 
riage,” replied Murkle. “The late Mr. Peto, who died suddenly, 


52 


ALTIORA PETO. 


left the whole of his property unreservedly to his widow; and as, 
on her marriage, she refused to have it placed in trust, contrary to 
my strong representations, it remains with her and her husband to 
make any settlement on their daughter that they choose.” 

“Are they in a position to make a large marriage settlement on 
her now, and would they do it if they were?” 

“No doubt they could settle a large sum of money on her, but 
its amount would depend upon whom she married. If she were 
to marry her cousin, Lord Sark, for instance, I believe they would 
make a very considerable sacrifice.” 

“ Should you like to see her married to Lord Sark, Mr. Murkle?” 
and, as Murkle hesitated for a moment, Mrs. Clymer extended her 
hand to him with an air of the most engaging sympathy. He put 
his into it, and, to cover his embarrassment — for this woman, having 
got oil finance, was now on her own ground — he put it to his lips. 
“Tell me frankly,” she went on. “We have not known each other 
long ; but we women, you know, are quick where affairs of the 
heart are concerned, and I have not seen you together without 
forming my own conclusions. And she, does she reciprocate?” 

“You seem to know so much,” said Murkle, “that you need 
scarcely have asked me that.” 

“I see,” said the lady, pensively drawing her hand from Murkle’s, 
and putting her finger to her forehead. “First, we have to prevent 
Miss Peto from being married to Lord Sark ; secondly, we have to 
marry Miss Peto to Mr. Murkle; thirdly, we have to make the baron 
give Miss Peto as much money when she marries Mr. Murkle as lie 
would have given her if she had married Lord Sark. Excuse my 
being so blunt, but there’s nothing like bringing down affairs of the 
affections to a business basis.” 

“But whom are we to marry Lord Sark to?” said Murkle, who 
did not quite relish Mrs. Clymer’s off-hand way of arranging such 
delicate matters, considering that she was as deeply concerned in 
them as he was. ‘ * I made the acquaintance of a lovely American 
heiress a few nights ago, who, I think, would just be the person to 
help the Dark Continent Electric Illumination Company to retrieve 
his lordship’s shattered fortunes.” 

“Mr. Murkle, I imagined you a person of more sense and better 
taste than to allude to me of Lord Sark’s marriage ; it is neither 
sensible nor delicate to force me to talk on a subject which I should 
not be ashamed to discuss with you if there were any necessity for 
it, but which I gave you credit for sufficient penetration to under- 
stand without expecting me to explain it to you. If you don’t un- 
derstand it, I have entirely overrated your intelligence ; if you do, 


ALT 10 R A PETO. 


53 


you should never have alluded to it, even by implication. How 
long had you known the baroness before her marriage?” she asked, 
abruptly, without giving him time to apologize or to recover from 
the blow thus roughly dealt. The effect upon Murkle of her whole 
speech was very much that which is produced by the sudden hiss 
followed by the pat of a cat ; and though not a person easily re- 
buked or abashed, he winced involuntarily at the last significant 
allusion. The movement was not lost upon the sharp eyes of his 
questioner ; and, without waiting for an answer, she added, “ She 
must have been an attractive woman twenty years ago, and her 
fortune must have made her doubly so. I wonder you allowed the 
baron to carry her off. The baroness tells me he was not a baron 
then and Mrs. Clymer rose, and, in her most silvery tone and ten- 
derest accents, continued: “I am so sorry, dear Mr. Murkle, that I 
must send you away now; I have an appointment with Lord Sark, 
and must go and get ready to go out. I have so enjoyed your visit, 
which I hope will only prove the first of a series, now that we find 
we have so many interests in common;” and she touched the bell, 
and Murkle found a servant waiting in the anteroom to show him 
out, before he had clearly realized that his visit had terminated. 

He left the house with a disagreeable sensation of defeat, and a 
consciousness that Mrs. Clymer had already discussed him with the 
baroness, and was not the woman to make new acquaintances with- 
out investigating their antecedents. 

It is only due to Murkle to say that he had left a 'feeling of dis- 
comfort in the breast of Mrs. Clymer, by his allusion to a beautiful 
American heiress, very much analogous to that which she had pro- 
duced in him. Mrs. Clymer had good reason to know that Lord 
Sark was susceptible to the fascinations of the sex. She was not 
without experience of the powers of her own countrywomen, and 
she dreaded the influence which Murkle was evidently rapidly ac- 
quiring over her lover, and the uses to which, if it suited his pur- 
pose, he might put it. Two lovely girls, with fortunes, in the field 
as rivals, were enough to make any woman feel uncomfortable; but 
Mrs. Clymer was not one to shrink from a contest of this sort when 
it was forced upon her, and lacked neither promptitude nor audac- 
ity upon such occasions. Within an hour after Murkle had left 
her she was sitting alone with the baroness, and cross - examined 
that astute personage with a dexterity worthy of a detective. 

“I am on my way, my dear baroness,” she said, ,“to call upon 
your neighbors, the great American heiress and her friend — two of 
my splurging young countrywomen, who come over to Europe and 
give you all such a false impression of American society. Not that 


54 


ALTIORA PETO. 


I can tolerate it at its best, but my curiosity has been excited by 
Mr. Murkle about these latest specimens. Do tell me what you 
think of them, dear baroness, you who have seen so much of the 
world.” 

“Now, Mrs. Clymer, you really are too hard upon your fair com- 
patriotes. I think them quite charming — so original, with a cachet 
quite their own,” replied the baroness, who had her own reasons for 
wishing to cement an intimacy with the beautiful heiress. ‘ ‘ I am 
so glad dear Altiora has found such companions; she is down-stairs 
with them now, dear child, so I am sure you will find them at 
home. ” 

“I think Mr. Murkle is already rather epris in that direction,” 
pursued Mrs. Clymer, slyly. 

But the baroness, who saw the drift of this observation, turned 
the point of it neatly by saying that she did not think this could be 
the case, as she had heard Mr. Murkle remark what a good match 
Miss Walton would be for Lord Sark. So Mrs. Clymer, after some 
more futile attempts, determined to lose no more time, and a few 
moments later found herself standing at the door of the entresol. 
When it was opened to her the notes of a rich contralto voice flood- 
ed the antechamber, which only ceased when her card was taken 
in, and a pause, probably of w T onder as to who she was, was follow- 
ed by a summons to enter. A shyer person than Mrs. Clymer might 
possibly have been taken aback by the large group of strangers 
upon whom she was thus forcing an entry. Standing near the 
piano was a tall girl, whom she devoutly hoped might not be the 
heiress, for Sark was passionately devoted to music, and her extreme 
beauty was undeniable; accompanying her was a gentleman, who 
was probably her singing-master. At the corner of the room was 
another girl, absorbed in oil-painting, also apparently under the 
direction of a master; while near her was standing a gentleman, with 
a glass in his eye, critically watching her performance. At one of 
the windows was seated Altiora and an elderly lady, darning a stock- 
ing, to whom a handsome, fair-haired man was talking so earnestly 
that he scarcely seemed to perceive the entry of the visitor. Evi- 
dently the tall girl was the heiress, for she advanced to meet her. 

“ I must introduce myself as a countrywoman,” said Mrs. Clymer. 
“I have only just heard of your arrival from our mutual friends, 
Mr. Murkle and the Grandesellas, whom I have been calling upon 
up-stairs; though, of course, I know you well, Miss Walton, by rep- 
utation, and saw in the American papers that you had left the States 
for a trip to Europe.” This was an effort of imagination, but Mrs. 
Clymer felt that it was a safe one. ‘ ‘ I could not resist coming to 


ALTIORA VETO. 


55 


tell you at once liow glad I shall he to do anything to make your 
stay in Paris agreeable. I am only a visitor myself, as I usually 
live in London, but I have lived so often here that I almost feel a 
Parisian, and if you want to do any shopping can tell you all the 
best places to go .to. ” Mrs. Clymer rattled on with this long speech, 
as there’s nothing like talking to relieve embarrassment, and Miss 
Walton introduced her to Miss Terrill, who was the lady painting; 
Mr. Alderney, who was the gentleman superintending; Miss Coffin, 
who was the lady darning; and Mr. Hetherington, who was the gen- 
tleman talking to her; and to the drawing and singing masters — for 
she was too republican to ignore their presence. Altiora she greet- 
ed effusively. 

“You find us in the middle of our studies, Mrs. Clymer,” said 
Miss Walton. “ My friend and I make it a rule to work six hours 
a day; but we have just finished our day’s labors, so you don’t inter- 
rupt us, and we are delighted to see you. What with what we’ve 
got to learn and see, the days don’t seem long enough. Lord Sark 
is coming to take us to the Louvre. I hope you will stay and go 
with us. Perhaps you know him? What o’clock did you say your 
cousin was coming, Bob?” she added, turning to Alderney. 

Mrs. Clymer felt a cold shiver run down her back, and for a mo- 
ment her heart seemed to stop beating. Here was the heiress al- 
ready on such intimate terms with Lord Sark’s cousin as to call him 
Bob, and that nobleman himself might be expected at any moment. 
How long had this intimacy existed? How was it that Lord Sark 
had concealed it from her? It seemed incredible that, in the few 
days which had elapsed since their arrival in Paris, the heiress 
could have made so much progress. The fact was, that though Al- 
derney had only introduced his cousin a few days before, Sark had 
been captivated by the delightful air of freedom which reigned in 
the heiress’s establishment, and had fallen in love with the whole 
party, Miss Coffin included. He was, indeed, at that moment on his 
way to them in his coupe, looking forward with the utmost delight 
to the effect which a series of slightly draped Rubenses would pro- 
duce upon that spinster’s unsophisticated mind. There was, in fact, 
a sort of healthy, breezy rush pervading the moral atmosphere in 
which Mrs. Clymer now found herself, which a good deal disturbed 
her equanimity. She had often stormed a London afternoon tea 
when she thought Lord Sark might be in danger, and borne him off 
triumphantly from the midst of beauties and heiresses ; but this was 
as little like pursuing him in a London conventional kettle-drum 
as deer-driving in Windsor Park is from chamois-hunting in the 
Alps. There was a social lawlessness about the whole performance 


56 


ALTIOJtA FETO. 


just calculated by its freshness to captivate the somewhat blase tem- 
perament of his lordship. The reckless way in which these girls 
took their singing and drawing lessons, and received young men and 
young lady visitors, who were supposed not to be in the way, and to 
be capable of amusing themselves, and the absence of any arriere- 
pensee of flirtation going on anywhere, so confused the intelligence 
of this sharp-witted lady that she had scarcely had time to decide 
upon her own line of action when the door opened and Lord Sark 
was announced. Though not easily disconcerted, he flushed, barely 
perceptibly, on seeing Mrs. Clymer — an indication of guilty con- 
sciousness not lost upon that lady, who greeted him with the easy 
intimacy of a proprietor; for this was a moment when she could 
not afford to be embarrassed by scruples of delicacy. As she did so 
she turned to the window where Altiora was talking to Hethering- 
ton, irresistibly impelled by the desire to see what impression the 
whole episode was making upon the former, when her glance was 
intercepted by one from Miss Coffin, whose individuality she had till 
now scarcely noticed, but the flash of whose eye was like that of a 
sword drawn without provocation upon an unarmed antagonist. 

“"Why, what a large party of American cousins we shall make!” 
said Lord Sark, cheerily. “We’re all going to the Louvre, Mrs. 
Clymer. I hope, even though you are not a cousin, you will come 
with us. ” 

“ Who knows that she ain’t?” said Hannah. “Now, it’s my opin- 
ion, Mrs. Clymer, you and me ’ll turn out to be someways related. 
You never kin tell in a country like ’Merika, where marriages and 
divorces runs so easy-like, where relations mayn’t turn up, even when 
you least expect them, and least want ’em.” 

Mrs. Clymer had lived long enough in London fashionable society 
to know how to avail herself of the weapon commonly called “ a 
well-bred stare,” and she applied it remorselessly to Hannah on hear- 
ing this unpleasant suggestion; but it was entirely lost upon that 
good woman, whose eyes had assumed a dreamy and almost glassy 
look, as if she were peering into the records of the past for some 
clew of the lost relationship. Suddenly she said, “I have it now,” 
and relapsed instantly into silence. 

“Oh, do tell us how Mrs. Clymer’s related to you, Hannah, you 
dear old thing ! I didn’t know you had a relation left in the 
world,” said Mattie. 

“Iam afraid her utter destitution of them has given a stimulus 
to her imagination,” said Mrs. Clymer, somewhat scornfully. 

“Come,” said Lord Sark, who saw the suppressed passion with 
which she resented what she feared might seem her humiliation in 


ALTIORA PETO. 


5l 


his eyes, “if we want to see the pictures before the Louvre closes, 
we must be starting;” and in a few minutes the party was en route , 
without the delicate subject being again alluded to. Here they un- 
expectedly stumbled upon Roland MacAlpine, who had been unable 
to resist following his magnet to Paris, but had not yet summoned 
up courage to call upon her; and it was Altiora’s turn to show a 
slight embarrassment as she introduced him to the rest of the party 
— observing which, Mrs. Clymer and Hannah, in their different ways, 
became contemplative, and an acute observer might also have per- 
ceived a shade of uneasy interest passing over the handsome counte- 
nance of Hetherington ; but the two girls and Alderney were too 
much absorbed with their devotion to art to notice anything; and 
Lord Sark’s attention was so distracted by his admiration for the 
heiress, and his desire to conceal it from Mrs. Clymer, that he, too, 
hardly noticed the new addition to their party. 

“Do tell me,” said the heiress to Lord Sark, pointing to a large 
and fashionable party of English, ‘ ‘ why your countrywomen, espe- 
cially the young ones, all stick their elbows out, particularly when 
they are shaking hands?” 

“I am afraid,” answered his lordship, “it is a habit they have 
picked up from their brothers. I can’t say it is a very graceful one 
in either sex.” 

“Laws!” said Hannah, who had been watching these British fem- 
inine greetings with great interest, “that ain’t the reason. It’s be- 
cause they laces so tight. You just try and buckle yourself across 
the waist and chest like them gells, and then see how it eases your 
breathing to stick out your elbows. Why, you might as well try 
and take long steps in a tie-back as take a long breath, when you’re 
laced like that, without opening out your elbows. Ain’t that so, Mrs. 
Clymer? You must know;” and she gave a comical look at that 
lady’s waist and elbows, which was evidently en revanche for the 
well-bred stare to which she had been subjected, and which her 
opponent was unable to venture upon again. So she took another 
line : as she could not knock her down with her fan, she patted her 
playfully on the shoulder with it, saying as she did so, “You naughty, 
quizzical old thing!” She hoped that to be called an “old thing” 
by an entire stranger might sting; but it didn’t, for Hannah only 
gave a sort of chuckle, and said, “Wal, now, you’re gettin’ real 
friendly, like relations should be.” 

“Still, you know, that won’t account for the men doing it,” said 
Mattie, anxious to get back to the safer topic of the elbows. 

“ Laws ! yes it does : they jest foller the gells. It’s the gells that 
sets the fashion.” 


58 


ALTIORA PETO. 


“Not in England, I assure you,” said Lord Sark, muck amused. 
“ In America, I understand, tke women take the lead in most things; 
hut in England we flatter ourselves that the male sex holds its own. ” 
“Bless you, they flatter themselves just the same with us! The 
question is— do they? Now, there ain’t no one here as knows as 
much about the men of both countries as Mrs. Clymer. I’ll jest 
ask her what she says. Which men have you found most difficult 
to get along with, my dear?” 

But Mrs. Clymer, who had by this time become convinced that 
she was too heavily handicapped to be a match for Hannah, affected 
not to hear this question, but to be absorbed in admiration of a re- 
cumbent Venus of Titian, at which Hannah, following the direction 
of her eyes, could only gasp, “My sakes!” and then, turning abruptly 
round, walked off, for once fairly beaten from the field. 


CHAPTER Vm. 

RONALD MACALPINE’S KELTIC ENTERTAINMENT. 

During the few weeks that followed this episode the intimacy 
of the party with whom the reader has now made acquaintance in- 
creased with the rapidity which so often results from a chance meet- 
ing of a group of strangers in a foreign country, who, for lack of 
other friends, find themselves constantly thrown into each other’s 
society. It is true that Hetherington, Alderney, Murkle, the Gran- 
desellas, Lord Sark, and Mrs. Clymer were not without their Paris 
acquaintances ; but for various reasons the Californian girls formed 
the nucleus round which the party chiefly gathered, and Ronald 
MacAlpine was soon drawn into the vortex, and became — perhaps 
because it was an easy way of meeting Altiora — one of their most 
devoted attendants. Altiora’s existence, prior to that episode in her 
affections which she confided to the reader in her own words in the 
first pages of this history, had been so comparatively removed from 
contact with society, that she failed in her appreciation of her lover 
to convey any true impression of that gentleman’s real character or 
tendencies — of which, indeed, she was totally ignorant. Though 
nominally a member of a learned profession, MacAlpine had early 
arrived at the conclusion that he had a nobler mission in life than 
that of defending clients, and that, by developing what he was pleased 
to term his genius, he might aspire to the position of a social apostle 
in the age in which he lived. He was just clever enough to be the 
victim of a vanity which could feed upon a variety of superficial 


ALT10RA PETO. 


59 


tastes, which the more amiable of his friends called talents, and 
which therefore secured him a certain amount of admiration and 
even homage. He dabbled in philosophy, and had read enough of 
Herbert Spencer to talk with a profound authority about the ‘ ‘ un- 
knowable,” and patter his thin agnosticism to progressive young 
ladies at London dinner-parties. He had written two or three nov- 
els, profusely decorated with stanzas of erotic poetry, which he had 
subsequently culled from them, and published in a volume apart, 
and called ‘ ‘ Lyrics to Leda. ” He had, moreover, a turn for musical 
composition, and from this little volume he had made a second se- 
lection, which he entitled “The Swan’s Last Notes,” and forced 
them for a third time in that form upon an admiring public. Then, 
as he had a tolerable tenor voice, expressive eyes, and slender fin- 
gers, he used to sing to his own accompaniment at the piano, when 
his stock of philosophical small-talk was exhausted; added to which, 
he was an authority upon all matters connected with art, from a 
cathedral to a garter ; and his rooms in Mayfair were more like 
Abou Anticha’s back-shop in Damascus than a bachelor’s quarters 
in London. 

There was something very suggestive of the progress of the age 
to find this descendant of an old line of Scottish chiefs, whose an- 
cestor had been an aide-de-camp of Charles Edward in the ’45, and 
whose family traditions were of the rudest and most barbaric type, 
thus developing by the process of social evolution into a philosoph- 
ical litteraire, a musical aesthete, dabbling in every evanescent hobby 
which a sated society could invent, and devising new forms of ec- 
centricity, which might increase at once his notoriety and his hold 
upon the world of fashion in which he lived. By dint of great in- 
dustry at his little pursuits, a persevering ingenuity in concentrating 
attention upon himself, and a shrewd appreciation of the weaknesses 
of his fellow-men, or rather women — for it was among the latter that 
Ronald was a special success — he had conquered for himself the po- 
sition of being, if not a lion, at least a promising whelp ; and during 
the season the looking-glass over his mantel-piece was abundantly 
wedged all around with cards of invitation ; while his services were 
required as a sort of entree, to lighten the more solid fare of fashion 
at numerous country houses. His great-grandfather, if he spoke 
English at all, probably did so after the fashion of those Hebridean 
characters with which Mr. Black’s novels have made us so familiar; 
but Ronald had a style scarcely less widely removed from the or- 
dinary English vernacular of twenty years ago. There was an 
unctuous deliberation in his method of drawling out his criticisms 
in a somewhat high key, with a peculiar distinctness, which, in 


60 


ALTIORA PETO. 


order to make them the more impressive, was frequently interrupted 
by an affected hesitation, partly deprecatory, partly insinuating, and, 
by a love of giving advice with an apologetic manner, implying at 
the same time a conscious authority, especially to the fairer portion 
of his congregation. On these occasions his utterances and gestures 
resembled those of a lady-like bishop. To appropriate a novel and 
startling theory from some author or speaker cleverer than himself, 
and to give it vent, with a carefully prepared delicacy of diction, to 
a group of female adorers, and expatiate upon it to them as a pro- 
found and original thesis of his own, was an art which Ronald Mac- 
Alpine had cultivated to a high pitch of perfection ; and when he 
called upon our Californian friends the day after he had been in- 
troduced to them at the Louvre, he promised himself an exquisite 
satisfaction in initiating their Western minds into the finer subtleties 
of that delicate thought, upon matters philosophic and artistic, upon 
which he fancied himself so eminently qualified to discourse. 

“ I scarcely recognized you,” said Altiora, one day when she hap- 
pened to meet him paying a visit in the entresol, “ the first day I saw 
you at the Louvre — you look so different in the kilt, to which I am 
accustomed. ” 

“ I wear my national costume,” said Ronald, “when I am where 
it does not occasion too much remark, because it possesses a deeper 
meaning than was ever suspected by the rude barbarians from whom 
I have inherited the right to do so. Will you allow me, ” he went 
on, turning to the two American girls — “nay, are you sure it will 
not weary you if I permit myself to explain the true significance 
of — er — the Keltic raiment?” 

“Oh, pray do,” said Stella ; “but I am afraid, as I have never 
seen it, that I shall not be able to understand it unless I saw it on. 
Don’t you think you could just run off to your hotel now and put 
it on?” 

“Iam delighted that you show so much interest, Miss Walton. 
I always keep it with me, in illustration of my theory; and if you 
will do me the honor to take tea in my rooms some afternoon, I 
shall then be able to enlarge upon my present remarks. You are 
aware, doubtless, that at the time of the invasion of Scotland by the 
Romans the inhabitants of the southern portion of that country 
were costumed after the fashion of their ancestors, while the 
Kelts of the north confined themselves principally to skins, either 
their own, or— er— those of other animals. I think I may venture 
to assert, with some confidence, that the Kelts, struck by the pictur- 
esque beauty of the uniform of the Roman soldiers, with whom they 
had thus been brought into sanguinary conflict, arranged their skins 


ALT10RA PETO. 


Cl 


in imitation of it; and so we have a rude resemblance, continuing to 
the present day, of a costume which, as a pure matter of artistic 
effect, would, if it were restored to the original Roman ideal, be far 
more consonant with the loftiest conceptions of raiment than the 
fantastic clothing at present in vogue. I am therefore now engaged 
in modifying and adapting the Keltic dress, and should much wish 
to consult you in regard to several points — which, perhaps, you will 
be better able to judge of when you see it on. The hose as now 
worn represents no article of Roman attire ; I am therefore doubtful 
whether to draw them over the knee and attach them with a — er — 
garter, or to reduce them by about two inches to the length of an 
ordinary sock, which would make them correspond with the height 
of the Roman buskin.” 

“What ! leaving so much more of the limb bare?” Stella had 
still retained too much of the prejudices of her countrywomen to 
say “leg.” “ Oh, that would be what I think you gentlemen would 
call quite too exquisitely precious!” 

“Pardon me,” said Ronald. “To prevent the cause of art suf- 
fering injury from the vulgar ridicule which has been cast upon it 
by silly cartoons in a— er— weekly periodical and in dramatic trav- 
esties, I refrain from using art language in so early a stage of evo- 
lution. The jacket, which was evidently an imitation of the corselet, 
must be abandoned ; and the kilt, instead of being fastened round 
the waist, must depend from the shoulders.” 

“Oh, how delightful! Mind you put it on that way when we 
come to tea with you,” said Stella. 

“Iam alluding to its modified condition— as I propose it should 
be worn, Miss Walton ; in its present form it would be— er — rather 
too short. Thus elongated, it becomes a chiton, or tunic, over which 
will flow the plaid scarf, which thus becomes the toga, of which it 
is a manifest relic.” 

“It would require as much modification as the kilt,” said Alti- 
ora, “ to resemble the flowing robe which we see on Roman 
statues.” 

“Naturally, in order to adapt its folds, it would have to be cut 
out of a circular piece. I am merely giving you the outlines of the 
idea. When I have elaborated it I purpose lecturing on the sub- 
ject before the Costume Reform Society, and entertain hopes that a 
movement may be inaugurated by which those art principles which 
we have hitherto applied chiefly to house decoration may be intro- 
duced into modern attire, and effect a revolution in accordance with 
the — er — aesthetic spirit of thb age. At present I regret to say that 
art progress in dress is confined almost entirely to women; though,” 


62 


ALTIORA PETO . 


and he cast a reproving glance upon his fair audience, “if you will 
allow me to venture a criticism, I perceive a sad lack of any of the 
loftier taste conceptions in the costumes before me.” 

“Wal, now,” said Hannah, who resented this reflection upon 
American millinery, “I think we’re all fixed up to the last notch. 
I guess, before you git any of us to go about in your Kiltie dress, 
as you call it, we shall have to see what it’s like.” 

A loud burst of laughter from the three girls followed this sally 
of Hannah’s, under cover of which Ronald got up to take his de- 
parture; not, however, without a final arrangement being made for 
the next meeting at his afternoon tea. 

When, a few days after, the engagement was kept, their host, ap- 
propriately attired in his Highland dress, received them in the apart- 
ment which he had already contrived to decorate with various 
articles of bric-a-brac and solitary flowers ; while a piano, which he 
had hired for the occasion, was suggestive of the ‘ ‘ Lyrics of Leda ” 
and “The Swan’s Last Notes.” The baron had been tempted by 
the prospect of expanding his chest in bass accompaniment. Mrs. 
Clymer had come, because she felt sure that her voice had a more pow- 
erful compass than Stella’s, and she was haunted by the fear of that 
young lady’s fascinations over Lord Sark; his lordship had come, 
because the feminine attractions generally were irresistible; Murkle 
had come, because he designed seriously to lay siege to the heiress ; 
and the baroness was there, of course, with Altiora. Hetherington 
and Alderney, in their capacity of cousins and permanent escorts, 
could not be omitted from such a gathering ; while Hannah had 
come, impelled by an overpowering desire to see the Keltic dress, 
which, in accordance with the progressive art spirit of the age, she 
fancied she might be required to adopt. The little scream which 
she gave at the sight of Ronald’s bare knees indicated more plainly 
than any words could have done the shock which her maidenly in- 
nocence had received, and she scarcely listened with patience to the 
plaintive w T ail of the Swan as he accompanied himself on the piano. 
It was in the midst of a quartette by the baron, Ronald, Mrs. Clymer, 
and Altiora, who had a considerable musical talent, that Mr. Murkle 
enticed Stella into a small room adjoining, under the pretence of 
examining a newly - purchased picture, and opened his campaign. 
He had been leading up to it for some days past, and the reputed 
heiress knew too much of the opposite sex not to be perfectly aware 
of his intentions. She seemed rather disposed to encourage them 
than otherwise, and, to his delight, said, “What a charming little 
room for a quiet chat, Mr. Murkle ! It is quite refreshing occasion- 
ally to have a talk with a practical business man when one is among 


ALT10RA PETO. 


63 


people who are so much given to pleasure or the more trifling 
pursuits of life. ” 

“I have long felt, Miss Walton,” said Murkle, “that you and I 
have very little sympathy -with the tastes which absorb some of our 
friends here,” and he cast a somewhat contemptuous glance round 
the carefully decorated little room. 

“It is so common to suppose,” she responded, “that sympathy 
needs feeding by sentiment, and that sentiment needs to be stimu- 
lated by music, or poetry, or flowers, or moonlight nights. For my 
part, I can feel quite as sentimental over a share-list as over the 
most lovely view in nature ; and what profounder sympathy can 
exist than that which binds in a common interest a pair of bulls or 
a couple of bears on the Stock Exchange?” Stella heaved a sigh 
charged with such deep feeling as she made this remark, and gazed 
into the depths of Mr. Murkle’s eyes with so much tender meaning, 
that that gentleman, who at first suspected she might be laughing 
at him, changed his mind under an impulse of gratified vanity, and 
gave his chair a little hitch which put it three inches nearer to hers. 
Stella, with a most delightful air of unconsciousness, reciprocated, 
as if quite accidentally, by a corresponding hitch, and reduced the 
distance three inches more. 

Murkle, whose position and avocation in life had not afforded 
him many opportunities of cultivating the fair sex, excepting under 
very questionable conditions, now unexpectedly found youth, beauty, 
and wealth smiling on him with a degree of encouragement which 
surpassed his most sanguine hopes. For him the whole atmosphere 
seemed suddenly charged with a subtle and exquisite aroma, under 
the influence of which his head began to swim, and his heart to 
beat with a violence which he had never experienced before, except 
on one occasion, when he had found himself compelled to offer his 
body as a target at twenty paces to an angry opponent in Italy, who 
had first accused him of cheating at cards, and then added insult to 
injury by calling him out; but he was conscious that the pulsation 
from a thrill of pleasure produced a very different sensation from 
the pulsation with a thrill of alarm— a physiological problem which 
Altiora might have sought to solve, but which he was too much 
engaged otherwise to dwell upon. His eye roved from the slender, 
arched foot to the -white, taper fingers of his charmer, playing with 
a tassel almost touching his hand ; to the tempting, exquisitely 
moulded parted lips, and then stealing more timidly upward to the 
half-raised lids fringed with their long, silky lashes ; and as they 
suddenly opened and caught his conscious gaze with their full, soft, 
penetrating glow he morally sank a captive at the feet of his en- 


64 


ALTIORA PETO. 


slaver — an emotion entirely new to him seemed to deprive him of 
the power of utterance. 

“Miss Walton,” he said at last, in a changed voice, “you exercise 
an influence over me such as no woman ever has before done. I 
meant in bringing you here for a moment’s conversation to tell you 
all I felt, but that has become impossible, for my whole nature 
seems to have undergone a revolution.” 

“But you can always try,” said Stella, sympathetically. “First 
tell me what you felt first, and then tell me what you feel now. 
You will find me a most interested listener.” 

“Well,” said Murkle, thus encouraged, “what I felt was, that I 
recognized in you a person whose talents, wealth, and beauty emi- 
nently qualified you to adorn any society; and I was going to pro- 
pose to you, upon a purely business basis — all sentiment apart, be- 
cause I supposed that we were both people incapable of being influ- 
enced by it— an alliance by which certain advantages which I may 
venture to say I possess might supplement yours. In other words, 
Miss Walton, I imagined that I could calmly ask you to be my wife 
upon a practical estimate of the benefits we might both derive from 
such a union. I am now conscious that it is impossible for me to 
make you such a proposal on the grounds I originally intended. I 
feel that thev were unworthy of you; but I none the less lay my 
heart at your feet.” 

“On what grounds now?” asked Stella, calmly. 

“On those of a passionate devotion to the woman I love. Oh, 
Stella!” 

But Stella interrupted him. 

‘ ‘ I prefer the other ones. Do you know you are sinking rapidly 
in my estimation, Mr. Murkle? I gave you credit for sound, practi- 
cal common-sense, instead of which you are talking the usual senti- 
mental nonsense, which I am tired of hearing. Please let us get 
back to business. Before I can entertain your original idea you 
would have to make out a schedule of your assets and liabilities. I 
should naturally require some references as to the commercial stand- 
ing of the firm, and I should have to look carefully into the nature 
of the contracts and other enterprises in which it may be engaged. 
The character of the securities you might have to offer for any con- 
tributions I might make would have to be considered; and if, after 
going into the whole thing thoroughly, I should find everything sat- 
isfactory, I am not prepared to say that a partnership— even of the 
character you at first contemplated — might not be possible. Besides 
business references, I should require social ones; or — stay — there is 
one which will quite satisfy me. If Miss Peto, who has known you 


ALTIORA PETO. 


65 


all her life, endorses you with her approbation, I shall be satisfied, 
so far as your personal character is concerned. There will remain 
only the financial considerations. When these are all settled I will 
lay before you a balance-sheet of my own assets, and we can decide 
upon the extent of my contributions. But you will understand that 
in saying this I commit myself to nothing. Until the final contract 
is signed the parties to it must not be considered bound in any way; 
and we must fix a time limit — say two months from now — at the 
expiration of which term this preliminary arrangement is at an 
end.” 

Murkle looked up at the end of this speech with very much the 
expression of an angry man who has been held under a douche 
against his will. Naturally of a violent temperament when his will 
was thwarted, he found himself in a position which, while it humil- 
iated him, rendered him absolutely powerless. Miss Walton had, 
after all, merely made him the proposition which he had intended 
to make her ; and he now became aware, when the tables were 
turned upon himself, of' the insult which it implied, and which he 
had confessed he had intended to offer the woman for whom at that 
moment he felt a devouring passion. “If you are only to be won 
by schedules, and balance-sheets, and assets, Miss Walton,” he said, 
bitterly, “I will w T in you that way.” 

“There!” she replied. “ You can’t think how much better I like 
you like that — when you are nice and natural and practical and 
business-like — than when you make yourself ridiculous by talking 
sentiment. Now we quite understand each other. The first move 
in the game which you talk of winning — mind, in two months — is 
the approval of Miss Peto to the whole transaction.” 

And as the quartette had reached the crescendo which indicated 
the final flourish, Miss Walton got up languidly and strolled into 
the next room, followed by Murkle, in a more suppressed condition 
than was usual with that gentleman. 

Although Mrs. Clymer had particularly distinguished herself in 
the quartette, the disappearance of Stella and Murkle had not been 
lost upon her, and she gazed keenly into their countenances when 
they returned. Stella’s face was a blank page, but much was to be 
read by so astute an observer in Murkle’s countenance; and Mrs. 
Clymer determined to devote herself to consoling him, as she called 
it to herself, for the rest of the afternoon. But indications of dis- 
comfort on the part of Murkle suggested that the process was any- 
thing but consolatory to that gentleman, who was the first to make 
his escape, in a very bad humor, from Ronald MacAlpine’s Keltic 
entertainment. 


5 


66 


ALTIORA FETO. 


CHAPTER IX. 

STELLA’S CONFIDENCES. 

If, the night after the occurrences just related, some of the gen- 
tlemen most interested could possibly have peeped into a certain 
bedroom on the entresol of No. Quatre-vingt dix-huit, Rue du dix- 
huit Mars, dix-huit cent soixante et onze, it is probable that they 
would have found some difficulty in withdrawing their indiscreet 
and admiring gaze, while it is certain that they would have heard a 
good deal that was not intended for their eager ears. For here, 
wrapped in flowing 'peignoirs, with their luxuriant hair rippling 
down their backs, and their daintily slippered little feet resting on 
the fender, languidly reposing in a couple of easy-chairs, sat Stella 
Walton and Mattie Terrill, regardless of the fact that it was one 
o’clock in the morning — as the opera, from which they had just re- 
turned, was over at an unusually late hour — one looking like a queen 
en deshabille, and the other like a gypsy in full dress, but both in 
their way with a charm peculiarly their own — evidently very wide 
awake, and fully determined to take advantage of that witching 
small hour of the morning when girls most love to unburden their 
fluttering little hearts to each other, and exchange delicious confi- 
dences. And here I must remind my reader, in order to prevent 
confusion, that the girls had changed names, and, lest they should 
unguardedly betray themselves before the world, had determined to 
keep up the delusion when alone. It had become a sort of idee fixe 
with Mattie Terrill — whose real name was Stella Walton— that she 
was unusually plain (which was by no means the case), and that she 
was more likely to be married for her money than for love — which, 
considering her colossal fortune, was no doubt true; and hence she 
had persuaded her friend, before leaving America, to become a party 
to her little ruse, and adopt the role which that young lady willingly 
undertook, inspired thereto by the innate love of mischief, which 
was a prominent feature in her character. Even Miss Coffin en- 
tered into the joke with a certain grim enjoyment, as, according to 
her, ‘‘men were mainly made to be fooled;” but she had made so 
many mistakes in attempting to address the girls by their changed 
names in public, that it had come to be an understood thing that 
when she wanted to attract the ear of the false heiress she always 


ALTIORA PETO. 


67 


began her remark with “ Say!” and when she wanted to talk to the 
real heiress, who had been her pet from babyhood, she addressed her 
as “Honey.” By rigidly confining herself to this rule, and never 
venturing to introduce them to strangers, she had so far avoided 
any serious or compromising mistakes. 

“ Mattie, dear,” said the lovely Stella, suddenly disclosing a small 
packet, which she had kept concealed in her lap, and drawing from 
it a cigarette, “I am going to have a smoke; they say it is calming 
to the brain, and I feel like wanting to be calmed ;” and she lit her 
cigarette at the candle, and gave a puff which was half a sigh — 
an untoward combination, which brought on an immediate fit of 
coughing. 

“Bob says it does not really calm you unless you inhale,” said 
Mattie. ‘ ‘ I tried it the other day, but the only effect was to choke 
me to a most exciting extent. Fortunately, as I told him, I did not 
want calming; -whereupon he took such a deep inspiration of smoke 
that I quite trembled less it should never reappear : it did, after some 
time, through his nose. He said he found it necessary, when he was 
with me, to smother his feelings. I said I w T ould not give much foi* 
feelings that could be smothered by a whiff of tobacco - smoke. 
Then he said that I did not know what it was to be penniless. I 
did not see the connection of this remark, but I suppose he meant, 
poor fellow, that he was so poor that he could not buy himself 
enough cigarettes ; so I said, rather heartlessly, that the best thing 
to do, if you had a bad and expensive habit which you could not 
afford, was to give it up. Then he said it was not smoking, it was 
something else he was trying to give up. I asked him * What?’ on 
which he bluntly replied, ‘An idiotic attachment.’ I said I was 
very happy to hear that he thought that being in love with improper 
or married women was idiotic, as to my mind this custom, so preva- 
lent in Paris, quite accounted for the idiocy of the French youth 
generally; and I was very glad that he had come to take a sensible 
and moral view of the matter. You see I thought it best for his 
good to speak frankly, and not to pretend, to be so innocent or pru- 
dish as not to dare to call things by their right names. 

“ ‘Good heavens, Mattie!’ he burst out, ‘you don’t suspect me of 
anything so shocking? The person I love is one of the purest and 
best of her sex.’ 

“‘Then I don’t see anything in the least idiotic about it,’ I 
said. 

“ ‘But how can I marry without anything to marry upon?’ he 
went on. ‘Do you know what my income is, Mattie? Exactly one 
pound a day ; and I have always been so glad it wasn’t more, be- 


68 


ALTIORA PETO. 


cause it would liave confused my accounts. Now, a pound a day is 
a nice easy sum to remember; and I like my studies so much better 
than any profession or appointment that could be offered me, that I 
have refused everything, and been quite happy with it, till now 
I find that all my happiness in life is blasted by the smallness of 
the amount.’ 

“ ‘But,’ I said, ‘if the “person,” as you call her, is worth any- 
thing, and cares for you, she wdll gladly share a pound a day with 
you. Why shouldn’t you go and live in some cheap place and 
study together?’ 

“ ‘Do you really mean it, Mattie?’ he said, blushing very much, 
and looking at me very earnestly ; and then seeing, apparently, that 
I did mean it, he took my hand, and said, ‘Oh, my darling, how 
happy you have made me !’ and so, on. It’s no use saying all he said. 
It all happened this morning, when you were out riding with Mr. 
Murkle, and I was alone with him here studying the Zend Avesta. 
You know he is making translations of the Ya^na and Yispered, 

, and all the other waitings on Mazdeism, and I am learning the char- 
acter, so as to try and help him; he has just finished a translation of 
the Yidse Yadata, or the law against demons. You can’t think how 
interesting it is ! Imagine what fun it will be, Stella, when he finds 
out that, instead of five dollars a day to live on, we shall have nearly 
five thousand!” 

“My dear Mattie,” exclaimed Stella, whose large eyes had been 
getting rounder and rounder during this recital, ‘ ‘ you take my 
breath away! Why, how slyly you have managed matters! Even I 
am taken by surprise. Do you mean to say that you have engaged 
yourself to Bob Alderney?” 

“ Well, not irrevocably. In the first place, while he is studying 
Mazdeism with me, I am going to study him with Mazdeism. I 
asked him if he was prepared, should I require him to do so, to give 
up his beloved Orientalisms, and become a stock-broker in New York. 
You should have seen the wry face he made at the prospect of be- 
ing a possible millionnaire. I don’t know which he hated most— 
the pill or the gilding; however, he swallowed it, and I let him give 
me one kiss, poor fellow, to take the taste out of his mouth, and 
said, ‘ Then that is settled.’ I shall let him remain in this delusion 
for a month or more— it will have an excellent moral effect upon 
him. He said, ruefully, ‘ I thought you began by agreeing that w r e 
were to live on a pound a day and study. ’ 

“‘Oh,’ I said, ‘I constantly change my mind.’ I’m going to 
make myself as disagreeble to him as I can all the time we are en- 
gaged, just to see what kind of a temper he has got; and then, if he 


ALTIOliA VETO. 


69 


stands the ordeal, when he discovers at last that besides my fortune 
lie possesses a wife with an angelic disposition, the moral surprise 
will be more delightful than the material. Oh, Stella, what a splen- 
did thing it is to find a man who hates money so much that he 
won’t object to my giving most of it away, if I have a mind to, 
and who will marry me on five dollars a day, regardless of con- 
sequences!” 

“I call it simply reckless,” said Stella. “How does he know 
how many little consequences you may not have?” and then she 
jumped up and put her arms round her friend’s neck, which she 
moistened with a few tears of honest congratulation, which, when 
Mattie felt, she said, “Why, Stella, darling, what’s the matter?” 

“ Oh, I am so happy!” said the beauty. 

“ Yes; but that’s not all,” said Mattie. “ You’re a little sad, too; 
tell me what it is about — confidence for confidence, you know. It 
seems to me, though we have scarcely been a month in Paris, that 
the romance of our lives is overtaking us pretty quickly; and I 
have been so absorbed with my own affairs, I have not been watch- 
ing yours.” 

“Ah, mine are much more complicated,” said Stella, smiling 
through the large pearl-drops that stood in her eyes. “At present 
there are three men making love to me in various degrees, and ani- 
mated by various sentiments ; and I am making violent love to the 
one I hate, and turning a cold shoulder on the one I like, and co- 
quetting with the one to whom I am absolutely indifferent.” 

It was now Mattie’s turn to display wonderment, while Stella 
went on with a calm analysis of the situation : 

“And that is only the least of it. It is like the house that Jack 
built. This is the man that Stella hates. This is Stella, who makes 
love to the man that she hates. This is the man in love with Stella, 
who makes love to the man that she hates. This is the woman in 
love with the man in love with Stella, who makes love to the man 
that she hates. This is the girl who despises the woman in love 
with the man in love with Stella, who makes love to the man that 
she hates. This is the man in love with the girl who despises the 
woman in love with the man in love with Stella, who makes love to 
the man that she hates. This is the fool who is jealous of the man 
in love with the girl who despises the woman in love with the man 
in love with Stella, who makes love to the man that she hates. 
From which brilliant illustration you obtain a dramatis personae of 
four men and three women all inextricably entangled in the W'eb of 
their affections.” 

“My dear Stella, how silly you are! How on earth do you ex- 


70 


ALT I OB A FETO. 


pect me to make head or tail of such a jumble as that ? Do put 
names on them,” said Mattie. 

“ The man, then, whom I hate, but to whom I make love, is Mr. 
Murkle. The man making love to me, and whom I love— there is 
no use mincing matters by calling it ‘like ’ — is Lord Sark; the 
woman in love with Lord Sark is Mrs. Clymer; the girl who de- 
spises her is Altiora Peto; the man in love with Altiora is Keith 
Hetherington ; the fool who is jealous of Keith Hetherington, be- 
cause he was once himself, and may be still, in love with Altiora, 
though he is now coquetting with me, is Ronald MacAlpine. Now, 
in order to enlighten your mind, which, my dear Mattie, has been a 
good deal bewildered by your studies of the Zend Avesta, I will 
enter fully into detail. Know, then, that it is the fixed determina- 
tion of Mr. Murkle to marry either Altiora or me. He really prefers 
me, partly because I have taken the trouble to captivate him, and 
partly because he supposes I have so much the largest fortune; 
but then I am not Lord Sark’s cousin, or connected with the aris- 
tocracy, so he fluctuates in his feelings, and when he is alone with 
Altiora he tries to make love to her, but does not succeed, because 
she can’t bear him ; and when he is alone with me he tries to make 
love to me, and does succeed, curiously enough, because I can’t bear 
him either. Should he find out that I am not an heiress nothing 
could save Altiora from Murkle, for he seems to have some hold 
over the Grandesellas which would compel Altiora to sacrifice her- 
self. I intend, therefore, to hook him, land him, and, when Altiora 
is otherwise safely provided for, sell him. I am convinced he is 
a scoundrel and deserves no better fate. Now, I believe Lord Sark 
to be honestly and sincerely in love with me, and not with my sup- 
posed wealth, and to be no less honestly and sincerely desirous of 
escaping from the clutches of the Clymer; but I am also convinced 
that dear Altiora, though she does all she can to conceal it, is no less 
honestly and sincerely in love with Lord Sark, and the only way of 
saving her from Murkle is by her marriage with him, which the 
Grandesellas are most anxious for. Hence I disguise my feelings 
and behave brutally to him — June Him lacrimm, as Bob would say,” 
and she laughed through them. “I could not do a better turn to 
the man I love than save him from the Clymer and marry him to 
Altiora. Unfortunately, Keith Hetherington is in love with Altiora, 
and he would be worthy of her, but he must be sacrificed, as she 
does not seem to care for him, and the Grandesellas would not hear 
of it, as he is only a second son. As for Ronald MacAlpine, with 
his scraps of poetry, and his literary dabblings, and his musical 
compositions, and his aesthetic jargon and smattering of philosophy, 


ALTIORA PETO. 


Vl 


I merely amuse myself with him, because he seems to be a typical 
specimen of the age in which we live, and to keep him from bother- 
ing other people. There, now,” she concluded— “with all this on 
my brain do you wonder at my trying to calm it with a cigarette?” 

“Why, Stella,” said Mattie, as she jumped up, with undisguised 
admiration, “you’re a perfect heroine, you grand, self-sacrificing 
creature. But I won’t let you do it — you sha’n’t throw your happi- 
ness away, to say nothing of the worldly advantages, which I don’t 
think so much of myself, in this way. I shall find out what Alti- 
ora’s real sentiments in the matter are, and I shall tell Lord Sark. 
Poor man! are his feelings not to be taken into consideration? If, 
as you say, he really loves you, are you both to be sacrificed to this 
excess of chivalry?” 

“And you would have me stand by and see a noble nature like 
Altiora’s trampled upon by a wretch like Murkle?” interrupted 
Stella. “Whatever happens, I will not provide for my own happi- 
ness while that contingency remains open. If I have obtained a 
certain power over the man, I mean to use it— if not for his own 
good, as that seems impossible, at all events to prevent his doing 
harm to others. No, Mattie, don’t interfere in this matter. I am 
responsible for the influence your fortune gives me while it is sup- 
posed to be mine, and I am going to see what good I can do with it. 
I made a mental resolution to that effect when you asked us to 
change characters, or I would never have consented to play the part 
of heiress. You must let me play it my own way till the time 
comes for handing it over to Bob. And till that time comes our 
secret must be jealously preserved.” 

“ Trust me for that,” said Mattie. “If Bob had the slightest sus- 
picion that I was the heiress he would disappear into the deserts of 
Arabia, and write me love-letters in cuneiform, explaining the matri- 
monial disabilities of a pauper. He must not know anything about 
it till the last moment. But though I am not the heiress now, I still 
have the responsibilities attaching to my prospects, and in the mean 
time I am not going to let all the self-sacrifice be on one side ” — 
which enigmatical remark Mattie rounded off with a portentous 
yawn, to indicate that even the most interesting love-conversation 
must have an end. 


72 


ALTI01U FEW. 


CHAPTER X. 

MR. MURKLE MAKES A DOUBLE PROPOSAL. 

I wish I understood the law of crises. I suppose it has an inti- 
mate connection with that other mysterious problem, the law of 
chances. If one comes to that, all laws are problems, and the most 
incomprehensible of all are the laws of the land. This arises from 
the fact that judges and juries always treat unfortunate mortals as 
if they could control circumstances, and circumstances never con- 
trol them. In other words, the anomalies of our jurisprudence, not 
to say its cruelty and injustice, arise from an imperfect appreciation 
of the laws of free-will and responsibility; for this reason I have not 
the slightest respect for the laws of the land. If I obey them, I do 
so for the same reason that I obey mamma, for whom also I have 
not any respect — because it would be most inconvenient not to do 
so. If I thought that human laws had the remotest resemblance to 
those which are divine, I should either not only obey but respect 
them, or else, perhaps, not respect those which were divine. I mere- 
ly mention this in the solitude of jny chamber, to the privacy of my 
journal, which, I am sure, no human eye will ever see; because, 
since it has become a question of marrying me to some one, whether 
I like it or not, I have been reading up the subject in some law books 
which Bob Alderney borrowed for me, and the distinction they 
make between femmes soles and femmes couvertes is perfectly mon- 
strous — utterly opposed- to reason and common-sense. I have con- 
structed half a dozen cases, where to be their victim would involve 
an outrage and violation of the holiest instincts of a woman’s nature. 
That is why I began by saying I wish I understood the law of crises, 
because, should I ever be forced to obey those instincts which I be- 
lieve to be divine rather than the human law, there would come a 
crisis. Now, I have always had a theory that from time to time 
our lives culminate to crises. Then the crisis bursts, and we begin 
again, and slowly or rapidly, as the case may be, culminate to an- 
other crisis. I am very young, but I have already seen enough to 
know that these critical periods are inevitable incidents in the sys- 
tem of the universe. They occur with individuals, they occur with 
nations, they occur even in nature. The history of the world and 
of humanity attests the truth of this statement; but what is the law 


ALT 10 R A PETO. 


73 


by which they are governed? It is evident that they depend upon 
combinations, which seem fortuitous, of individual influences, and 
this connects them with the law of chances. For instance, I am tak- 
ing a walk. I come to a fork in the road. I doubt whether I will 
go to the right or the left. Without any apparent motive I go to the 
right. I accidentally meet some one. That chance meeting turns 
out the pivot upon which my whole future life hinges. It changes 
my destiny. Had I gone to the left, it would not have taken place, 
and the fate of hundreds, which Were subsequently to be influenced 
by mine, would have been different, as well as my own. In our 
blindness our fates cross and recross, and our destinies become bound 
together by those chains of circumstances, the links of which are 
surely forged in the invisible world. I feel a sort of iron web being 
woven about me even now. I instinctively sense the organisms 
whose destinies are linked with mine, whether for good or evil, irre- 
spective of my will, with which, since I have been in Paris, I have 
come into contact ; they are : Mr. Murkle, Hannah, Lord Sark, Mrs. 
Clymer, Stella Walton, and Mr. Hetherington ; as to Mattie Terrill, 
Bob Alderney, and Mr. MacAlpine, their fates may indirectly affect 
mine, but only remotely. The baron and mamma I have had to 
count with from the first. Our three threads formed the skein, to 
begin with, to which Mr. Murkle’s was almost immediately added. 
Oh, if I could only peep into the other world and watch the “Fates,” 
as they were called by the ignorant old heathen, weaving the other 
five into tlsem ! The reason I feel so sure of this is, that during the 
past month I have had private conversations with several of the 
above-mentioned individuals, and each pregnant with fate. I will 
narrate them, beginning with Mr. Murkle. We were riding together 
in the Bois de Boulogne when it took place. 

“Altiora,” he began, “you are now a woman, and a sensible 
woman, and the time has come for me to speak to you frankly 
upon a subject of the utmost importance to us both. Ever since 
you were twelve years old I determined to win you for my wife. 
You need fear no opposition on the part of the baron or your 
mother, should you decide to take me for your husband. You 
have known me from infancy, while I have never lost an opportu- 
nity of manifesting the admiration which I sincerely felt for your 
character as I watched it develop. The time has now come for me 
to tell you this, and to ask you for your answer. ” 

“Mr. Murkle,” I replied, quietly, “it is because I have known 
you from my childhood, and have had every opportunity of study- 
ing your character, that I feel convinced we are totally unsuited 
for each other. While I am very sensible of your kindness and the 


74 


ALT I OR A PETO. 


compliment it implies, I am sure you will not attempt to force my 
inclinations in this matter.” 

The peculiar, dark, predatory look with which I am so familiar 
clouded his face as he answered, s 

“I was prepared for this refusal. Now that I have had the ad- 
vantage of seeing as well as of hearing of Mr. Mac Alpine, it is ac- 
counted for; but no rival should stand in the way, had I not had 
occasion to modify my determination as to the line of conduct I had 
chalked out for myself. I am not, as you know, Altiora, a senti- 
mental man, nor am I a harsh one, except when I am driven to 
harshness to accomplish my ends. It is not necessary for me, there- 
fore, unless I am forced to it, to tell you why it w T ould not be in 
your power to resist my will in this matter if I chose to exercise it. 
You may think this an empty threat, but, were it expedient, I could 
prove to you at this moment that it is not. I hope it never may be 
necessary for me to allude to it again. I can offer you an escape 
from the fate you seem so much to dread,” he added, sardonically, 
“if you will help to provide me with another. It may seem strange 
for me in one breath to ask you to become my wife, and in the next 
to assist in advancing my suit with some one else, but I have never 
regarded marriage from a sentimental point of view. In Miss Wal- 
ton I find nearly all the advantages which you so eminently pos- 
sess. . She is clever, beautiful, and wealthy; and if she is not so well 
connected as you are, her nationality dispenses with considerations 
which would be important were she an Englishwoman. I have 
therefore decided upon placing my hand at her disposal. By en- 
tering Parliament I have laid the foundations of a social position 
which she is calculated at once to grace and to improve. You will 
see that it is essentially in your interest to use the great influence 
which you possess with her and her two friends, especially the old 
one,” he pursued, with a sneer, “to induce her to regard my suit 
favorably. Having known me all your life, your testimony to my 
worth of character, amiability of disposition, and matrimonial tem- 
perament generally, cannot fail to have weight, I know, dear Alti- 
ora, that, under the circumstances, I can rely upon you,” and he 
held out his hand, as though to conclude the bargain. I took it in 
silence. On the one hand, I was not going to commit myself in 
words to this unholy alliance ; on the other, I wished to lull his sus- 
picions as to what I really intended to do in the matter. For coute 
que coute, whatever might be the value of this threat, that if he failed 
to win Stella he would fall back upon me, I was determined never 
to let that dear, noble girl fall a victim to so unscrupulous an ad- 
venturer; and now that he had shown me his cards I was fully de- 


ALT I OH A PETO . 


75 


cided to avail myself of my knowledge to frustrate his designs. I 
therefore even went so far as to respond to his enclosing palm with 
a gentle pressure, which he might construe as he liked, and merely 
said, 

“I now quite understand you. You- will agree with me that the 
subject is too delicate for us to discuss farther;” and in the same 
breath, in order to change it, pointed out Lord Sark driving in a 
victoria with Mrs. Clymer. 

“ Ah,” he said, “there goes my rival ! But I know how to put a 
spoke most effectually into his wheel. With the Clymer for an 
ally, and the company for a trap, or the company for an ally and 
Mrs. Clymer for a trap — it does not matter much which way you 
put it — Lord Sark is not a dangerous antagonist. By-the-way,” he 
added, as though a sudden thought flashed upon him, “ if I succeed 
with Stella Walton, what nobler mission Could you desire than to 
save Lord Sark from the Clymer? You would make the baron and 
your mother eternally grateful by marrying your cousin.” 

“Yes,” I said; “but I should have to hold my affections in sus- 
pense until you had terminated your campaign successfully with 
Stella, and that might not be possible. Don’t you think you are 
risking a great deal in suggesting such an idea ? Suppose Stella 
refused you, would you expect Sark and me to change our minds?” 

“Oh, she won’t refuse me, if you will only say a good word for 
me. At any rate, of one thing I feel certain, and that is, that she 
will never accept him. She makes the most marked difference in 
her manner toward his lordship and myself. However, far be it 
from me to suggest that you should involve your affections in any 
direction — all I want is your support with Stella.” 

An idea here rapidly flashed across me, and I gave a sigh, which 
caused him to look up hurriedly. 

“You were ridiculously mistaken in thinking,” I said — and I am 
conscious I blushed while speaking at the delicate ground I was 
treading on — “that I was in love with Mr. Mac Alpine. It is as 
well that you should know, what I should have told you had you 
pressed me farther, that my affections are already engaged, but not 
to him. Of course I do not know the nature of the threat you hold 
in terrorem over me. I hope, as you say, that there will never be 
any necessity for you to enforce it; but I can conceive of no press- 
ure which it would ever be in your power to bring to bear which 
could compel me to marry against my inclinations, the more espe- 
cially since they have become already involved in another quarter.” 

Mr. Murkle, who was by no means a polite person when he was 
off his guard, gave vent to a long, low whistle; and at that moment 


ALTI011A PETO. 


76 

Lord Sark and Mrs. Clymer, seeing us, drove up. Her presence 
alone with him at such an hour, and her audacity in coming up to 
speak to us, caused me to color violently; and I felt that the convic- 
tion suddenly forced itself upon Mr. Murkle’s mind, as he observed 
it, that he had not to look farther for the object of my attachment, 
the more especially as Mrs. Clymer could not resist shooting at me 
one of those jealous glances which so acute an observer as my riding 
companion could not fail to intercept. 

“Whose fate were you discussing with such earnestness?” she 
remarked, with a meaning laugh. “My lord here has been bowing 
in vain to Miss Peto, but she seemed to have no eyes nor ears except 
for you, Mr. Murkle.” 

“We were just then talking about you, Mrs. Clymer,” he an- 
swered, with the greatest coolness. “You know the proverb, ‘ Talk 
of the — angel,’ and so forth.” 

“Lord Sark and I were much less scandalous,” she remarked, 
“for we were discussing the prospect of the Dark Continent Elec- 
tric Illumination Company. A propos, come and see me to-morrow 
at two; I have something of importance to talk over with you.” 

“ I shall be at home at two, Lord Sark,” I said, and I saw Mrs. 
Clymer’s face flush with anger as we passed on without allowing 
time for a reply. Mr. Murkle for the rest of our ride was absorbed 
in a brown study, and I was only too glad to leave him in it. 

It was, therefore, about the hour on the following day that Mr. 
Murkle was having his interview with Mrs. Clymer that I had the 
conversation with Lord Sark, which I also believe to have been 
“critical.” I had long been thinking how to open his eyes to the 
dangers by which he was surrounded, and to release him from the 
bondage in which he was held, when the opportunity seemed thus 
providentially furnished, for I knew my mother was going to a 
concert ; and at two o’clock, accordingly, Lord Sark made his ap- 
pearance. 

“You may think it strange of me,” I said, “to ask you to call at 
an hour w r hen I knew my mother would be out; but I have had to 
act so much for myself through life, that perhaps I am less conven- 
tional than most girls, and this must also be my excuse for what I 
am going to say.” I then explained to him, as shortly as I could, 
my theory about the crisis in our lives — about free-will and moral 
responsibility— about organic influences and the necessity of evolv- 
ing the highest ideal conception of daily life, and then of trying to 
live up to it — and justified my making a personal application of 
these theories to both of us by the strong, conscientious conviction 
which I felt that it w^as my duty to do so, because I believed that 


ALT 10 R A PETO. 


every human being— even an unprotected and ignorant girl— might 
possess an influence which she might exercise for good. His mind 
had been so little trained to considerations of this nature, that he 
evidently followed me with difficulty ; but he admitted that every 
individual exercised an influence of some sort or other ; that it 
must be either for good or evil ; and that they were responsible, 
for it. So then I asked him what kind of influence Mrs. Clymer 
was likely to exercise upon three pure girls, and whether he could 
justify having been the means of bringing her into contact with 
Stella Walton, Mattie Terrill, and myself. “ So strongly do I feel 
on this subject, Lord Sark,” I went on, “that either she must go 
away, or we must. How it is to be managed I don’t clearly see; 
and this was my reason for asking you to come and discuss the 
matter with me. ” 

“But, my dear Altiora,” he said, looking stupefied with amaze- 
ment, “Mrs. Clymer is the most intimate friend of half the girls in 
London; their mothers make no objection to their intimacy with 
her. Society has accepted her without question ; and I scarcely 
think you have a right to set yourself up against it. You have no 
proof that Mrs. Clymer is not as virtuous as any other woman in 
London. In fact, her conduct is irreproachable. She is nothing 
more than a great friend of mine ; and most pretty women who 
have lost their husbands, or are unhappily married, or whose hus- 
bands don’t object, have great friends of the other sex. Life would 
be intolerable to them otherwise, poor things ! but the intimacy need 
not necessarily be improper.” 

“ I have nothing to do with London society, or its customs, or its 
standard of morality,” I replied; “this is a special case. Stella 
Walton is my great friend. I have seen enough of you to feel the 
highest regard for you. I see what your feeling for her is. It is 
neither doing justice to you nor to her that this woman should re- 
main here. You cannot be her great friend without doing yourself 
an injury which must pass through you to others. You are under 
her spell, and as a spell-bound person you affect others hurtfully. 
You are charged, if I may so express myself, with a poisonous 
magnetism which you disseminate.” 

“That may all be true — it is somewhat beyond me,” said Sark; 
“but granting it to be so, how is it to be remedied? I can’t go, be- 
cause I am attracted like a moth to a candle by Stella, with whom, 
as you have rightly divined, I have fallen deeply and passionately 
in love. Mrs. Clymer will not go away, because she is determined, 
if possible, to prevent the match ; and I can’t make her, because, 
as you say, she has got me under some spell, which I can only resist 


78 


ALTIORA PETO. 


in one point. Slie lias been urging me to leave Paris, but here I 
am able to stand my ground.” 

‘ ‘ In other words, you’re like one of those toy geese that follow 
magnets,” I said, “only in this case there are two, and they pull 
with equal force in opposite directions. The result is that you are 
paralyzed — that is why I say Mrs. Clymer must go away, and you 
would instantly gravitate in the right direction.” 

“I am sure Stella does not try to attract me,” he gloomily re- 
plied, “for she is coldness itself. She seems entirely taken up with 
that fellow Murkle. I wonder what sort of magnetism his is?” 

“As bad as Mrs. Clymer’s, only of another kind,” I answered; 
“but you are mistaken if you think that Stella cares for him, 
though I confess her apparent encouragement of him is a mystery 
which I have in vain endeavored to solve. But I am sure of this, 
if Mrs. Clymer went away, her whole manner to you would change. 
It would not advance matters much if you went away with her, 
even if you could tear yourself from Stella. What I want to see 
is your emancipation from the whole connection. I can give you 
the best idea of your position by Mr. Murkle’s own description of 
it — ‘ With Mrs. Clymer for an ally and the company for a trap, or 
Mrs. Clymer for a trap and the company for an ally — it does not 
much matter which way you put it — I do not fear Lord Sark as a 
rival;’ that was his way of expressing it, and I think it is one which 
deserves your serious consideration.” 

Sark bit his lip and tapped the floor with his foot. “Believe 
me,” I added, seeing that I was making an impression, “you are in 
as much [danger materially as you are morally, and it is for your 
own sake as well as for ours that I want the atmosphere purified. 
Withdraw from the whole of this financial combination. I am sure 
that Stella cares for you; and though I don’t want you to marry 
her for her fortune, the fact that she has one will relieve you from 
all farther pecuniary anxieties.” 

“Dear Altiora,” he said, “I feel the soundness of your advice; 
the unfortunate thing is that it is impossible for me to follow it. 
I am irrevocably committed to the financial scheme, to which I am 
both legally and honorably pledged. It is useless for me to attempt 
to drive Mrs. Clymer away; and if I went away myself she would 
simply have gained her point and follow me, and I should lose Stella, 
and fall back into the old bondage. There is a confession of weak- 
ness, but it is the truth, Believe me,” he said, taking my hand, “I 
am none the less deeply grateful to you and ashamed of myself.” 

I had barely time to release my hand, when the door opened and 
Mrs. Clymer herself entered the room. 


ALT 10 R A PETO. 


19 


CHAPTER XI. 

A PASSAGE OF ARMS. 

Sark neither colored nor started as Mrs. Clymer, with a rapid 
and penetrating glance at both of us, advanced to greet me. I was 
conscious of doing both, and yet she read an expression of guilt on 
his honest countenance, while I am sure mine expressed nothing 
but indignation at her unceremonious entry. We must have pre- 
sented an interesting study to an experienced physiognomist. I re- 
member, although the moment was a critical one, trying to think 
by what feature the confusion which his face exhibited was chiefly 
betrayed. He did not lower his eyes as they met hers, the lines of 
the mouth did not move perceptibly as he rose slowly to follow up 
my greeting with his own, and yet there was a distinct admission 
in his face of a consciousness that he was caught. I ask the inquir- 
ing mind, Where was it ? By what mysterious agency does the 
countenance mirror the emotions, when the will holds every feature 
in an apparently normal calm? And how is it that the mirror is 
often a distorted one, and conveys an erroneous impression? Now, 
I am certain it did in my own case. I was conscious of having 
done nothing to be ashamed of. I was angry, but not dismayed, 
at Mrs. Clymer’s sudden entrance, and yet I am sure that that lady 
utterly mistook the signs of my emotion, and attributed them to a 
sentiment which she supposed to be common to both Sark and m}- 
self. In fact, she was convinced that she had interrupted us at a 
moment when, as she imagined, some tender passages were being 
interchanged; and a certain triumphant and vindictive flash of her 
eye, as she squeezed my hand effusively, and then turned with easy 
and affectionate intimacy to her ‘ ‘ dear Sark, ” warned me that the 
passages now in prospect were likely to prove anything but tender. 

‘ ‘ I did not let the servant announce me, my dear Altiora, ” she 
said, knowing how it jarred upon me to be addressed by her by my 
Christian name, “because I knew your mother was out, and heard 
you tell Sark yesterday that you were to be at home. That un- 
punctual Murkle came half an hour before his time, because he had 
some meeting to attend, and so I was released sooner than I ex- 
pected. I hope I have not indiscreetly interrupted an interesting 
tete-a-tete. ” 


80 


ALTIORA PETO. 


“Not at all,” I calmly replied. “Your arrival would have been 
inconvenient a few moments ago ; as it is, I have said everything to 
Lord Sark that I wished.” And seeing that she was vainly attempt- 
ing to suppress a nervous anxiety on the subject, I maliciously 
added, “He is quite satisfied — are you not?” and I turned to him, 
with a glance which I purposely intended should mislead my adver- 
sary, so full was it of a tender meaning. 

The embarrassment into which it threw poor Sark, who was so 
taken aback that he could only stammer that he “never could be 
sufficiently grateful to me,” evidently confirmed her worst suspi- 
cions. She lost her presence of mind under the pressure of her 
excitement, and said, sharply, “Do you mean to tell me that you 
are engaged?” 

I looked at her with an indignant glance of outraged propriety, 
and said, ‘ ‘ I am not aware, Mrs. Clymer, of any circumstance which 
gives you the right to ask that question.” 

She apparently considered that the crisis warranted her in disre- 
garding all social conventionality, or perhaps she felt her social po- 
sition so strong that she could dare anything without danger from 
me, for she replied, with the most unblushing effrontery, “Lord 
Sark is in a position to explain to you what the circumstance is 
which at all events gives me the right to ask him that question.” 

“I think,” said Sark, overwhelmed with confusion, “that the 
subject is one which we had better not discuss farther just now.” 

“On the contrary, ” she replied, “there could not be a more con- 
venient or appropriate occasion. If Miss Peto intends to marry you, 
it is only right that she should be informed of the precise relations 
we occupy toward each other.” 

I confess I was staggered by the shamelessness of this remark. I 
had seen so little of society that I did not know that such things 
could be possible. I rose quietly and touched the bell. “Mrs. 
Clymer,” I said, “if you do not leave the room instantly I will have 
you turned out by the servants.” 

Sark sprang to his feet. 

“I implore you, Altiora,” he said, “do not let us have a scandal. 
I shall never forgive myself for having been indirectly the cause of 
bringing this annoyance upon you;” and then turning to Mrs. Cly- 
mer, he added, “You are laboring under a complete misapprehen- 
sion. I am not engaged to be married to Miss Peto or to any one. 
Let us go now. I am sure that a moment’s calm reflection will lead 
you to regret the hasty conclusion you have arrived at, and the 
expression to which it gave rise.” 

“Miss Peto brought it upon herself,” said Mrs. Clymer, rising as 


ALTIORA PETO. 


81 


the servant entered; and, bowing with an air of outraged majesty, 
she left the room, followed by Sark, who had just time to press my 
hand and whisper, “ Once more forgive me, and don’t despise me 
utterly.” 

A quarter of an hour after this, and while I was still brooding 
over the outrage to which I had been subjected, mamma and the 
baron came home. I immediately told them what had occurred, 
and said it was impossible for me ever to meet Mrs. Clymer again, 

“My dear Altiora,” said mamma, “when you come to know a 
little more of life you will see how ridiculous such scruples are. I 
look upon Mrs. Clymer’s intimacy with your cousin as quite provi- 
dential. I have been assiduously cultivating her friendship, because 
it will insure us access into the very best society in London. Why, 
half the smart people bombard her with invitations, and the other 
half with requests to get them for them. ” 

“But after what she has admitted to me surely we could render 
that impossible,” I said. 

“In the first place, it would not be convenient to listen to you. 
In the second place, if we could expose her, which people in our 
position would utterly fail to do, you would, to use a vulgar expres- 
sion, be simply cutting off your nose to spite your face. My dear, 
she may prove a most valuable and useful acquaintance and cha- 
peron. Indeed, I have already made arrangements for her to take 
you to a ball next Sunday week, to which she is going with Lord 
Sark, to be given by the celebrated author and play-writer, Mon- 
sieur Housseyn Arsaye, where you will see a little of Parisian life in 
its most brilliant and characteristic aspect. I am sure your Ameri- 
can friends would like to go, and they could scarcely do so under bet- 
ter auspices. I shall insist, Altiora, upon your not giving yourself 
airs of propriety in these matters. As your mother, I am respon- 
sible for your conduct, and I shall be quite satisfied to place you 
under Mrs. Clymer’s guidance. So you will have the goodness to 
immediately apologize for your rudeness. She may do us the great- 
est possible injury if we offend her. The idea of a chit like you 
flying in the face of a recognized beauty like Mrs. Clymer on the 
score of morality! The thing is monstrous. Is it not, baron?” she 
added, appealing to her husband. 

“ Mafoi, my little Ora, we must take things as we find them,” he 
said, turning to me; “you and I can’t afford to run atilt at social 
follies. We have been most fortunate in securing Lord Sark and 
Mrs. Clymer as intimates, and no one would thank us, except a few 
crabbed old ladies who want him for their daughters, for making a 
scandal. Besides, dirt always sticks. You are the only authority on 

6 


82 


ALTIOEA PETO. 


tlie subject; and a young lady who makes her debut by attempting 
to expose a beautiful and popular woman, because she is too inti- 
mate with her own cousin, would certainly not come out under 
happy auspices. No, Ora mia, as your mother says, we must patch 
up this little difference, and be all the better friends for it. If you 
can win Sark from her, no one will be better pleased than I shall be, 
but you have gone the wrong way to work, ma petite .” 

“ I don’t want to win Sark from her for myself, but for his own 
good,” said I, indignantly; and I had much difficulty in preventing 
my feelings from finding vent in a flood of tears. “And,” I added, 
rising to leave the room, while my voice trembled with excitement, 
“nothing shall induce me even to speak to Mrs. Clymer again. You 
need not, therefore, expect me to apologize to her, much less to 
make my entry into London society under her auspices.” 

Thinking the matter over in my own room, I found that I had 
placed myself in a very difficult position. I knew the baron and 
mamma well enough to feel certain that they would spare no pains 
to conciliate Mrs. Clymer, and I knew that lady well enough to be 
equally sure that she would not lose the triumph of being concili- 
ated, and of coming to the house hardened in her insolence by her 
success. My reserve would only make me look ridiculous, and she 
would not spare me. In my dilemma I determined to go down and 
take counsel of my friends in the entresol; and thither I accord- 
ingly repaired, just in time to find the two girls alone with Hannah 
at their afternoon tea. 

“ Well, that beats all,” said Hannah, when I had concluded my 
story without interruption. “I felt all through my bones that 
Clymer was a hard case the first time I sot eyes on her, but I didn’t 
jest know it went that length. But to think of your mama a-knowin’ 
it all, and wanting to git along in what she calls ‘ society ’ by sacri- 
ficing your innocence to her vice — why, it’s enough to make a body’s 
hair stand on end!” 

“ The question now is,” I said, “what am I to do? How am I to 
escape the humiliation of her presence and of her triumph? And 
how, in the face of a command from my parents to the contrary, am 
I to preserve my own self-respect? I heard Mr. Mac Alpine and Mr. 
Hetherington talking the other night about the ball she wishes me 
to go to, and nothing will induce me to go, particularly under the 
escort of Sark and Mrs. Clymer.” 

“You must jest run away from ’em, my dearie,” said Hannah, 
with the greatest coolness imaginable. ‘ ‘ There is times when your 
dooty to your God is greater than your dooty to your parents, ’spec- 
ially when one of ’em is only a Eitalian, and a step-father at that.” 


ALTIORA PETO. 


83 


This proposition was so unexpected that it quite took my breath 
away, but it was received by the two girls with rapturous approba- 
tion. 

‘ ‘ Why, that’s splendid, you dear old Hannah. She shall run away 
to us. We’ll all ‘ vamose the camp,’ as the boys say out West, in the 
night, and not leave a sign for them to follow us by,” said Stella, 
clapping her hands. 

“ Yes,” said Mattie, “ we’ll just leave a line behind to say that we 
are very sorry, but we had to do it, because we found our Californian 
morals were getting contaminated by the best society we tumbled 
into on our arrival in the Old World, and we took the liberty of 
carrying off a little innocent that hadn’t been corrupted with us.” 

“Now, then, the question is,” said Stella, with a promptitude 
worthy of a great general, “to decide upon the plan of operations. 
When do you think Mrs. Clymer will be sufficiently reconciled to 
make an appearance again?” 

“Oh, certainly not before to-morrow afternoon,” I said. 

“Well, then, we’ll both go up-stairs. You go into your own 
room, which you may be supposed never to have left. I will go 
and see the baroness, and tell her we are going to spend three or 
four days visiting Versailles and St. Germains, and I’ll ask her to 
let you come with us. This she is likely to do, as she will imagine 
it will give you time to get over your anger with Mrs. Clymer, and 
give her time to conciliate that lady. Then I will ask to see you, 
and you will come down, innocent of the whole affair, and accept 
my invitation; then you’ll pack up enough things to last — not for a 
week, but for a year, if necessary; besides, we can always buy more. 
We will make all the preparations to-night, and all start for Ver- 
sailles the first thing in the morning, and then decide where to fly 
to next.” 

“And Bob?” said Mattie. “Do you suppose I can tear myself 
away from my Zend Avesta in this unpremeditated manner? No; 
Bob must be in the secret. We must consult Bob at once. I will 
telegraph for him to come here instantly.” 

“But won’t Keith Hetherington suspect?” I remarked. “Don’t 
you think we had better consult him too?” 

“We’ll telegraph for both,” said Stella, “to come here and dine; 
and you can dine too, Altiora. I will ask you up-stairs. Now, there 
is no time to be lost. But first,” said the girl, stopping in her enthu- 
siasm, and turning to Hannah, “tell us if you approve; we’ll none 
of us move a step without your approval.” 

“If I didn’t approve I’d a said so,” remarked the old lady. 
“When it comes to running away in such a good cause as this 


84 


ALTIORA PETO. 


you’ll find old Hannali making tracks with the youngest of ye; but 
I ain’t a-going to let that Clyrner drop — do you know it? If I don’t 
make her run too before I’ve done with her I ain’t one of the New 
Hampshire Coffins. She has got to be put down, and she’s got to 
stay put. It’s old Hannah says so, and you’d better believe it. ” 

The first part of the programme was carried out without a hitch. 
And the same evening, while Mattie was initiating Bob into his 
duties, I was having a serious conversation with Keith Hethering- 
ton on the subject. 

In spite of the intimacy which had sprung up between us during 
the past month, I had not been able to assume the cousinly privilege 
which my American friends had so rapidly availed themselves of, 
of calling Mr. Hetherington by his Christian name; but the more I 
saw of him, the more I was struck by the breadth and originality of 
his views upon the subjects in which I was especially interested, but 
in regard to which, upon ordinary occasions, he manifested the ut- 
most silence and reserve, feeling either that he was liable to be mis- 
understood, or that they were of too serious a character to be treated 
lightly. Indeed, he often seemed to have two different lives — an 
outer and an inner one ; one which he lived for his friends and for 
society, and one which he lived for himself. No one who judged 
of him by his ordinary conversation could form an accurate estimate 
of the earnestness of his character, and of the wide range of those 
faculties with which he was endowed, and which, aided by extensive 
research, travel, keen powers of observation, and study of his fellow- 
men and the phenomena of nature, had enabled him to arrive at cer- 
tain results which he was reluctant to impart to others, because, 
while convinced of their truth, he had not arrived at the point where 
they could be verified by evidence which should be satisfactory to 
the world at large. Hence he guarded them jealously under the 
mask of a very commonplace exterior. Notwithstanding this, there 
was an indescribable something about him which had from the first 
piqued my curiosity, and the interest which I manifested in a certain 
class of inquiry had finally induced him, so far as I was concerned, 
in a great measure to break through his reserve. It was the sym- 
pathy of thought and feeling which had thus become engendered 
that seemed to make it impossible for me to take so serious a step 
as the one I was now contemplating, without first consulting him, 
and yet it involved an explanation that could not fail to be more or 
less embarrassing. I was aware that the somewhat bold and un- 
usual measure I had resorted to in arranging a private interview 
with Sark, in order to detach him from Mrs. Clyrner, was liable to 
misconstruction, and that the position in which I was now placed 


AZTIOIiA PETO. 


85 


by that lady implied that I was a rival with her in my cousin’s af- 
fections ; while the plan of flying from her and from my parents 
and natural guardians was one which, from a conventional point of 
view, it would be very difficult, if not impossible, to justify; more- 
over, to take into my confidence a young unmarried man, whom I 
had not known above a month, even though he was twelve or four- 
teen years older than myself, and make a sort of father-confessor of 
him, which I felt strongly impelled to do, was to place us in an en- 
tirely new position relatively to each other, and to establish an in- 
timacy on such peculiar grounds as nothing but the utmost confi- 
dence in the justness of his appreciation of my motives and the 
rectitude of his character would have warranted. In spite of the 
affectionate sympathy of my impulsive American friends, I felt for- 
lorn and desolate. I wanted a matured masculine judgment to lean 
upon in this emergency, and whom had I to turn to but him? Still, 
it was not without a sense of the greatest embarrassment and hesita- 
tion that I described to him my interview with Sark, the motives by 
which it was prompted, its interruption by Mrs. Clymer, and the 
outrage to which I had been subjected by her, and my mother’s in- 
tentions with regard to her chaperonage of me in London; and, 
without telling him the plan I had decided upon, I asked him what 
course he would advise me to pursue under the circumstances. 
“Excuse me, Mr. Hetherington,” I said, in conclusion, “for taking 
you so deeply into my confidence, and placing you in a position of 
so much responsibility; what I really need is not social or worldly 
but spiritual advice. I suppose a clergyman would be considered 
the right person to go to, but I don’t know one ; besides, I heard 
Mrs. Clymer, who is a very regular attendant at church, say the 
other day that she found them such a comfort. She said there was 
one she always went to in her difficulties. They differ, it seems to 
me, just as much as other men, and they might think themselves 
bound by some text like ‘ Honor thy father and thy mother,’ which 
I am sure would not apply in a case like this.” 

“You must have been in difficulties before,” he replied, “though 
not so serious. What do you generally do?” 

“ Oh, I always try and think what papa, who, when he gave me 
my name, gave me the motto of my life, is at this moment wishing 
me to do under the circumstances. I try and imagine the highest 
conception of duty, and earnestly seek for his influence to descend 
and point it out to me; and indeed a good influence does seem to 
descend, and I seem to feel it encompassing me, but unfortunately it 
does not appear to be governed by any social consideration, anc} 
sometimes suggests the most impossible courses of faction from tho 


86 


ALTIORA PETO. 


worldly point of view. That is one reason why I have shrunk from 
going to clergymen — they appear to try and adapt their religion to 
the social requirements of the conditions by which they are sur- 
rounded, instead of going for the right and highest thing coute que 
coute. It is all a matter of compromise, and I hate compromise 
where it involves the slightest sacrifice of the highest ideal concep- 
tion of duty.” 

“But there may be one high ideal conception of duty to God and 
to humanity, and another to one’s self, or to one’s country, or fam- 
ily, or society; it all depends whom the duty is toward whether it 
is likely to involve compromise or not. Now, the ideal conception 
of duty toward one’s country is a very high one. ” 

“Yes; but surely not so high as toward humanity at large,” I 
replied. 

“ That was just the reason I refused a seat in Parliament when it 
was offered to me,” he answered, with a smile. “I found that the 
popular conception of one’s duty to one’s country involved a com- 
promise which I could not make with that which I felt I owed to 
humanity. If you feel the same with regard to your family, or to 
society, you have only one course to pursue.” 

“But I am not a Romanist, and I can’t become a nun. I can’t 
leave them, for I have nowhere to go to.” 

“And if you could you would not advance matters. You would 
do no good to the world by leaving it. This is the great mistake of 
ascetics — who are, in fact, more occupied with their own spiritual 
welfare than with that of their fellow-men — not perceiving the fatal 
egotism that underlies all efforts after personal salvation.” 

“But I am not thinking about my personal salvation now,” I 
said; “I am thinking simply of somehow fulfilling the conception 
of my duty to God, which you tell me admits of no compromise 
with the conventional idea of my duty to my family. ” 

“ One greater than I said that,” Mr. Hetherington interrupted, in 
a tone of deep solemnity, “ when he described how His cross should 
be borne.” 

“ But how is a girl under age like me to leave father and mother 
and house?” said I, knowing to what he alluded. “In the Chris- 
tian society in which we live I should be answerable to the law,” I 
added, bitterly, “and if I persisted in my rebellion should be put 
into Chancery, or some such thing, because I was trying to fulfil a 
divine command.” 

A long pause ensued, during which Mr. Hetherington put his 
elbows on the table and his face between his hands, remaining in 
that attitude for some moments. 


ALTIORA PETO. 


87 


“My child,” he said, at last, “there is a way which sets every 
pulse in my being throbbing when I think of it— for it is one which, 
if you consented to it, would bring inexpressible happiness and con- 
solation to a spirit that has suffered for many years the misery of 
utter isolation and desolation— but it is not open to us yet. I can- 
not ask you to become my wife merely because it would make my 
life a joy, and enable you to escape from a dilemma. Not because 
I fear the law, or would shrink from carrying you away from its 
clutches, but because in this matter we must be a law unto ourselves, 
and because marriage is too sacred a state to be entered upon either 
from motives of natural selfishness or expediency. Not only is it 
true in a deeper sense than the world wots of that marriages are 
made in heaven, but the time when they should be consummated 
here is registered there, and for us that time may never come. I 
know of only one person who can assist us in this difficulty, and she 
is not far off, ” he said, glancing from the corner in which we were 
sitting to Hannah, who was engaged at the other end of the room in 
the unusual task for her of writing a letter. 

“Oh,” I said, clasping my hands, not a little relieved from the 
emotion into which this singular speech had thrown me, ‘ ‘ I am so 
glad you have arrived at that conclusion at last! I only felt that 
this conversation was necessary in order to prepare you for what I 
have arranged with Hannah, only I somehow felt I wanted your 
sanction to it.” And then I told him our plans ; and as I saw that 
Hannah was by this time directing the envelope I called her. She 
came to us with the letter in her hand. As she laid it upon the 
table my eye fell upon the address. 

“Why, Hannah,” I said, thunderstruck, for I could scarcely be- 
lieve my eyes, “ who have you been writing to?” 

“ Mr. Clymer,” she replied, calmly. 


CHAPTER XII. 

FLIGHT AND PURSUIT. 

On the following morning the three girls and Hannah, attended 
by Hetherington and Alderney as escort, started for Versailles, and 
the same afternoon the baroness called on Mrs. Clymer, to pacify 
the outraged sensibilities of that lady. She found Lord Sark with 
her, which rendered the explanation somewhat embarrassing. 

“You can’t think, my dear Mrs. Clymer,” she said, “how dis- 
tressed I was on hearing from Altiora of her foolish conduct yester- 


88 


ALT I OR A PETO. 


day. I could not lose a moment in coming to ask you to forgive 
her for her presumption. I can’t think where the child has picked 
up all her ridiculous ideas. I hope, dear Lord Sark, you will make 
allowances for what must have seemed to you most unmaidenly and 
indelicate behavior on her part, and that it will not affect our pleas- 
ant relations together. I have sent the child away with her Ameri- 
can friends to spend a few days at Versailles and St. Germains, and 
by the time she comes back I shall take care to put matters on such 
a footing that any recurrence of such conduct shall be impossible.” 

Lord Sark was about to speak, but Mrs. Clymer was too well 
aware of the danger of allowing any deprecatory utterances on his 
part to give him time. At the same time she perceived that her 
only chance of keeping him quiet was to adopt an attitude very 
different from that which she would probably have assumed had 
she been alone with the baroness, and in a position to ride her high- 
horse unchecked. So, to Sark’s astonishment, she replied, 

“ I am so sorry you have taken the trouble to call, dear. I assure 
you the apologies, if there are any due, should rather come from 
Sark, who has a way of talking to girls as if they were women of 
the world, which is quite shocking. Poor dear girl, no wonder she 
was startled ! At her age I should have acted just in the same way. 
I tried to disabuse her mind of some erroneous impressions which, 
I am afraid, she has received now in reference to our old friend- 
ship,” and she extended her hand with the most engaging frankness 
to Sark, who evidently took it with reluctance; “but you, dear 
baroness, who know the world so well, and know what sad injus- 
tices we married women with wicked husbands have to endure, 
understand how harmless such intimacies are, and how desolate 
life would be if Plato had not invented attachments of that sweet 
and sympathetic character by which we are bound.” 

Mrs. Clymer was, in fact, not sorry for this opportunity of letting 
the baroness comprehend that she had no intention of giving up 
Lord Sark to Altiora, and that if she expected her help in London 
it must be upon those terms. So she went on: “A month of the 
London season under my chaperonage will be quite enough to en- 
lighten your daughter upon matters of which she is so utterly igno- 
rant as she proved herself to be yesterday. Her beauty, talent, ana 
relationship to Sark, added to my humble efforts and the baron’s 
great financial position, will, I am sure, secure her a brilliant social 
triumph.” 

Lord Sark’s face was a study during this speech. The notion of 
the girl, of whose pure and disinterested nature he had received 
such striking evidence, being introduced into London society by the 


ALTIORA PETO. 


89 


woman whose reputation in it he had himself done more than any 
one to compromise, and whose real character, now that she presented 
it to him in the light of his innocent cousin’s chaperon, began to as- 
sume a totally new aspect, filled him with a mingled sentiment of 
remorse and dismay. In the degree in which the grandeur and 
purity of Altiora’s mind had made their influences felt, and dis- 
turbed the latent sensibilities of his conscience, had he become more 
keenly alive to the contrast which was presented to it by the per- 
verted nature of the woman to whose fascinations he had fallen a 
victim. And the more that this counter-influence seemed to invade 
his organism did he shrink from the chains which he had hugged, 
and begin within himself to devise schemes for releasing himself, 
and for thwarting those plans of his late charmer to which the un- 
worthy mother was listening with so much complacency. 

In pursuance of the resolution slowly forming within him, he 
asked the baroness if she knew whether the party were to be found 
at that moment at Versailles or St. Germains; but Madame Grande- 
sella said, as she expected them back in three or four days at the 
most, she had not made any special inquiries as to their plans; and 
Mrs. Clymer suggested, with a suspicion of a sneer, that the surest 
way to find them would be to go to both. So his lordship, to that 
lady’s surprise and disgust, then and there took his leave, glad to 
escape at a moment when the baroness’s presence would make any 
opposition difficult. 

By the time Lord Sark reached the Hotel des Reservoirs, at Ver- 
sailles, it was already evening; and his inquiries turning out fruitless, 
he resolved to drive on to St. Germains, after a hasty meal ; but, to 
his surprise and consternation, he could find no trace of them there; 
and as it had now become too late to return to Paris, here he was 
forced to remain until early the following morning, when he went 
back to Paris, to ask the concierge whether the young ladies had left 
any address. Here he heard that on the previous afternoon his 
cousin, Bob Alderney, had appeared with Miss Coffin, had made ar- 
rangements for giving up the apartments altogether, had paid off the 
servants, had packed up everything that belonged to them, and the 
concierge had heard the direction given — “Gare du Chemin de fer 
du JSTord;” on which — without making inquiries of the Grandesellas, 
which he felt would be useless, or giving them the alarm, which he 
began to suspect would be treacherous — he drove off to the apart- 
ments occupied by Hetherington and Alderney. The former had 
just gone out; the latter had not been at home since the previous 
evening, nor did the servant know anything of his movements be- 
yond the fact that he had taken a small portmanteau with him 


90 


ALTIORA PETO. 


The chase upon which Sark had been engaged for nearly twenty- 
four hours now began to pique his curiosity, and to interest him in- 
tensely — the more especially as he strongly suspected that before 
long he would be the pursued as well as the pursuer. In the midst 
of his eagerness and anxiety he could not help smiling as the tab- 
leau presented itself to his mind — of his hunting Stella and Altiora, 
of Mrs. Clymer hunting him, and of the Grandesellas hunting the 
whole party. He rushed to his hotel to pack a few necessaries, 
wondering, as he did so, at the positive delight that he felt at the 
opportunity which seemed thus providentially offered of making his 
escape; at the utter absence of any sentiment for Mrs. Clymer strong 
enough to hold him ; at the constant presence of Stella in his mind, 
fluttering like an ignis fatuus from his gaze, at the very moment 
that existence seemed impossible without her ; at the deep brotherly 
affection which had grown up within him for Altiora — a sentiment 
which, for force of purity, he had not given his nature credit for en- 
tertaining. A whirl of pleasurable emotions seemed to have taken 
possession of him as he rapidly sped up the Rue Lafayette in his 
coupe. He pictured to himself a retreat in which he would find the 
girls hidden away, with Altiora to plead for him, and no Murkle to 
balk him in his suit; and he conjured up to himself the spectacle, 
with a satisfaction which he felt was heartless, of Mrs. Clymer’s 
fury at finding that he had flown no one knew whither. He had left 
word with his servant that he would probably not be away long, 
and to wait till he returned, which would still farther embarrass his 
fair friend, who would probably make the fruitless journey that he 
had done to Versailles and St. Germains. 

The only unpleasant reflection which arose to mar the full enjoy- 
ment of the situation was the uncertainty that attended his own 
pursuit. The inquiries which he made at the station left no doubt 
that he was on the right track. The previous evening three young 
ladies and an old one, attended by a young Englishman, had gone 
by the express to London, and he found himself just in time to take 
the tidal, so that he would be in that city within a little more than 
twelve hours after them; and he felt no doubt that Bob, not expect- 
ing such a rapid pursuit, might be heard of at his club. Such, in 
fact, proved the case. There, a little before midnight, he came sud- 
denly upon his unsuspecting cousin, deeply immersed in the study 
of Bradshaw. 

Bob, though he endeavored to assume an air of unconscious inno- 
cence, was evidently not a little disconcerted at Sark’s appearance 
on the scene. 

"‘Oh, lucky champion of distressed damsels, are you hunting up 


ALTIORA PETO. 


91 


the train which will most speedily convey them to the retreat you 
have selected for them?” said his lordship, who was so delighted 
with his good-fortune that he vented his sense of it in chaff. “To 
such a knight-errant Bradshaw becomes an idyl more sweet than 
the lay of any troubadour, and Pall Mall a scene of adventure 
which the Knight of La Mancha himself might have envied. But 
you must take me as your Sancho Panza, Bob. I am not going to 
be denied in this matter. I will follow you as a devoted squire to 
the ends of the earth in the defence of the pure and the unprotected 
from the perils of nineteenth - century civilization. Only tell me 
that our interests do not clash, and that the fair Hannah is not the 
Dulcinea of your affections.” 

“Before I answer a question,” replied Bob, sturdily, “ answer me 
one: where is the Clymer?” 

“At this moment I should say she was walking up and down her 
bedroom in Paris, in a dressing-gown, half blind with fury, having 
just discovered my flight, and that she will start by the first train 
to-morrow morning to Versailles and St. Germains to look for me. 
I purposely put her off the scent in order to give us time. Is this 
proof sufficient of my fidelity?” 

“ It is impossible for me to reveal their whereabouts to you before 
I consult the girls themselves,” said Bob. “Let us see” — and he 
turned to Bradshaw — “we ought to be off by the 1.40 at latest; 
meet me here to-morrow at 11, and I will tell you their decision. 
There is not another man in the world, except Hetherington, whom 
I would treat in this matter as I do you, old fellow; but then I have 
my suspicions of your real motives, and I am glad to have them. I 
know you would not have acted as you have done except as a true 
friend.” 

******** 

“Why, certainly; yes, indeed,” said Mattie Terrill, enthusiasti- 
cally, when Bob asked her on the following morning whether the 
girls would receive a visit from his cousin. “Just think of our 
Laving already made a distinguished member of the British peerage 
hunt us all the way from Paris — and then you talk about your aris- 
tocracy being quite too awfully aw-aw kind of fellows. Why, I 
guess no old trapper would have followed our trail more cunningly. 
Bring him by all means. In the multitude of counsellors there is 
wisdom, and he has won the right of being admitted into our confi- 
dence by the trouble he has taken to prove it. Don’t you think so?” 
she said, turning to Altiora and Stella — neither of whom, however, 
responded with the enthusiasm which she expected, though it was 
evident that the earl’s eagerness to find them was a source of quiet 


92 


ALTIOltA VETO. 


gratification to both. As Hannah gave her cordial adhesion the 
matter was settled ; and two hours afterward Lord Sark was in the 
house, in a quiet Tyburnian region, where Bob had secured them 
lodgings. 

“ The problem has been solved more rapidly than we either of us 
expected when we last met,” said Altiora, meeting him cordially, 
while Stella advanced with a slight hesitation, and a perceptible 
heightening of color, very foreign to her usual reckless manner, or 
the frigid reserve with which she had hitherto treated him. Lord 
Sark felt a delightful and exhilarating complacency stealing over 
him as he thus found himself accepted without question as an ally 
against the machinations of the Clymer, which, considering his rela- 
tions with her, surprised himself. He contrasted the agitating con- 
dition under which his former passion had been stimulated with the 
more wholesome influences under which he was now acting, and 
mentally resolved to preserve the liberty that he had thus won 
almost in spite of himself. A veil seemed to be lifting from an 
inner sanctuary, and revealing to him unknown and unsuspected 
possibilities of emotion ; and as it did so the contrast that this pre- 
sented to those of which he had been the victim struck him with its 
full force. He perceived that in the passion which he had felt for 
the siren who had enthralled him love, as he now began to under- 
stand its nature, had no place, and in the reaction of the discovery 
he was conscious of a sensation very nearly approaching to disgust. 

“I guess, lord,” said Hannah, whose eye he caught while thus 
reflecting, “that you feel a deal better inside of ye than when I saw 
you last.” Hannah always called Lord Sark simply “lord,” hav- 
ing, apparently, a conscientious scruple against calling him “my 
lord.” Nevertheless, in his absence, she always talked of him as 
“the lord.” Being a person who never wasted words where ab- 
breviation was possible, she had at an early period dispensed with 
“Sark.” Indeed, she had a nomenclature peculiar to herself both 
for her friends and her enemies. Murkle was always spoken of by 
her as “that Murkle,” with a world of contempt thrown into tliat; 
and when she addressed him to his face, which was as rarely as pos- 
sible, it was generally as “Mister;” but she had never forgiven his 
conduct about the trunk, and often simply attracted his attention 
by saying “Hyar;” and once in offering him a cup of tea at a mo- 
ment when he was making ostentatious love to Stella, to her intense 
indignation, she called out to him, “Hi, you there!” as if she was 
hailing a cab. Mrs. Clymer, for some reason known only to herself, 
and which she would never divulge, she never talked of except as 
that “Valparaiso baggage,” and addressed her to her face as “Mis- 


ALTIORA PETO. 


93 


sus.” She had never been heard to add the word Clymer. Hether- 
ington had soon been adopted as Keith, and then as Keithy; and 
Bob had so much advanced in her affections since he had aided in 
their flight that he, too, was now promoted, to his great delight, to 
being Bobby. 

There was this remarkable thing about Hannah, that she managed 
to convey in the tones of her voice, and in the manner of her ad- 
dress, a most exact reflection of her inmost sentiments in regard to 
the person to whom she was speaking at the moment; and Sark, 
who knew her peculiarities, felt an underlying tenderness in the un- 
couth remark, which described so exactly what he was feeling that 
it called out a burst of effusiveness which astonished the whole 
party. He could not give vent to the emotions that were welling 
up within him by embracing Stella, Altiora, and Mattie, one after 
the other, which would have been a natural outlet to his feelings; 
so he jumped up, and, crossing to Hannah, took both her hands, 
as the only reply he could make to her speech, and shook them 
violently. “Well, well, lordy,” she remarked, gazing at him be- 
nignly, “you’ve got the right stuff in you; guess you ain’t got far 
to go before you’ll come all right.” And ever after this Lord Sark 
was distinguished by the terminal y , which wag a certain evidence 
that he had become a favorite. 

“We must not lose any time if we are to tell Sark our plans,” 
said Bob. 

He then explained that a retreat had been secured by hjs efforts 
in a quiet, remote village to which he fondly anticipated that it 
would be difficult to track them ; that Hetherington was in the 
secret, and had been left in Paris to keep them informed of the 
movements of the Grandesellas and Mrs. Clymer; and that the girls 
were quite reconciled to the experience in store for them of a quiet, 
rural life in a secluded and beautiful part of England. Lord Sark 
suggested that this might not prove necessary, unless the girls ab- 
solutely wished it, and that he could get them all invited to Beau- 
court Castle, the seat of his uncle, by his mother’s side, the Duke of 
Beaucourt; and he maintained that Altiora would be as safe from 
intrusion or molestation there as in her undiscovered seclusion, as 
the Grandesellas would be too much overawed by the grandeur of 
her retreat to attempt either to pursue her or to extract her from it. 
Altiora, however, shrank from the possible notoriety which might 
thus attach to her escapade, from the explanations which might be 
involved, and from the sudden plunge which it would necessitate 
into the midst of an unknown world of aristocratic fashion. The 
Californian girls had no such hesitation, and any reluctance they 


94 


V 


ALTIOHA PETO. 


manifested to accept Lord Sark’s offer arose solely from their disin- 
clination to abandon the refugee who had fled to them for protec- 
tion; but this point was decided by Hannah, who could under no 
circumstances be induced, so far as she was concerned, to entertain 
the Beaucourt Castle project ; and it was therefore finally settled 
that they should all go to Copleydale together, under Bob’s guidance, 
and wait there in secrecy, until Sark had obtained the invitation 
from his aunt for the two American girls. As Hetherington had 
declared his intention of coming over to England as soon as the 
Grandesellas and Mrs. Clymer started in pursuit, Bob suggested that 
he should be directed to mount guard over Hannah and Altiora — 
a function he felt sure he would readily undertake— and proposed 
himself to sue for an invitation to Beaucourt ; and as he threw out 
this hint he looked for approval from Mattie Terrill. But that 
young lady seemed in a perverse mood, and declared that she 
wanted to flirt with English lords, and he would interfere with her 
and idle away his time, which he had much better spend in taking 
the steps necessary for his initiation into his new career as a stock- 
broker — an announcement which struck Lord Sark with astonish- 
ment; but there was no time to ask any explanation of it then, and 
an hour afterward he was standing on the platform at the Padding- 
ton terminus, waving his adieux to two lovely creatures kissing 
their hands to him out of the windows of the carriage of a vanish- 
ing express train, much to the envy of the surrounding spectators. 
The same afternoon he wrote to the Duchess of Beaucourt, asking 
if she had room for him at the Castle. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

THE DUCHESS OF BEAUCOURT. 

“ Sapristi, ce n’est toujours pas le mari qu’on cherche comme 
9a,” said the waiter of the Hotel Henri Quatre, at St. Germains, after 
he handed Mrs. Clymer into aj fiacre and was watching its retreating 
wheels— a sentiment suggested to his experience in such matters 
by the ill-suppressed evidences of anger and anxiety exhibited by 
that lady, after she had drawn the coverts of Versailles and St. 
Germains in search of the missing party in vain. She had time 
enough, however, to compose her feelings and her role before she 
arrived at the apartments of the Grandesellas with the tidings. She 
affected to be intensely amused by the whole performance. It was 
“so like dear Sark to enter into the spirit of a joke concocted by 


ALTIORA PETO. 


95 


two wild Californian girls, utterly ignorant of all the convenances of 
civilized life, and capable of outraging all rules of propriety. They 
had no social reputation to lose ; but her real concern was for dear 
Altiora, whose innocence had been betrayed, and whose character 
had been compromised, poor girl, by her reckless friends. It was 
very sad.” And she composed her features to a becoming condi- 
tion of gravity and sympathy, and turned appealingly to Murkle, 
who happened to be present, and invited him to suggest what 
course should be adopted in so unexpected an emergency. 

“We had better find out from the concierge ,” said that worthy, 
“when he expects them back again. They may have changed their 
minds and gone to Fontainebleau.” And he left the room, while 
the baroness protested that Altiora would never dream of prolong- 
ing her absence beyond the time originally specified. But Murkle 
came back with the appalling intelligence that the party in the 
entresol had paid oil their servants and given up the apartment, and 
left a letter, which was to be given to the baroness at the expiration 
of three days ; but ‘ ‘ as monsieur had made inquiries, he would give 
it to him at once.” And as it was addressed to the baroness, Murkle 
handed it to her, and she read as follows: 

“Dear Baroness, — We find that we are altogether too unsophis- 
ticated, without farther preparation, to stand the w T ear and tear of 
Parisian existence under the conditions presented to us. That na- 
tive innocence which is so marked a characteristic of the girlhood 
of the Pacific slope cannot bear the moral strain. We feel we w r ant 
toughening all over, and we have decided to go into seclusion in 
England to toughen. We have taken dear Altiora with us, for she 
has as pure a nature as if she had been born at Cedar Buttes, and we 
cannot bear to see it spoiled. She tried hard, dear girl, to write you 
a line for me to enclose in this, but her feelings were too much for 
her. With kind regards to the baron and Mr. Murkle, amicably 
your friend, Stella Walton. 

“P.S. — You will see from this that it will be quite impossible for 
any of us to go with Lord Sark and Mrs. Clymer to the ball on 
Sunday.” 

“ If the girlhood of the Pacific slope are half as innocent as they 
are insolent,” said the baroness, with a snort of indignation, “they 
must be truly exceptional in that respect. ‘ Amicably your friend/ 
indeed !” 

“ Sark had a most important meeting to attend to-day. He has 
guaranteed the transfer of the property of the company of which 


96 


ALTIORA FETO. 


he was chairman, and the final papers were to have been signed. 
He is so far compromised that if he attempts to back out now 
we can ruin him, morally and financially,” said Murkle, who was 
filled with rage at the prospect of losing the heiress to the man 
whose rank he had intended to turn to his own pecuniary and social 
advantage, while there was a still farther possibility of Altiora escap- 
ing from his clutches. 

“Bah, caro mio!” said the baron; “there is nothing to make a 
fuss about. They are a pack of children, whom we can soon bring 
to their senses. Fortunately, the whole matter is arranged, so far as 
our French colleagues are concerned. We have nothing for it but 
to follow the fugitives to England, and change the base of our oper- 
ations. We shall soon find out where they are; they are too distin- 
guished a party to be lost. Allons, Lalla mia! Pack up; we must 
be off by to-night’s train. Will you allow us to offer you our 
escort?” he added, turning to Mrs. Clymer. 

That lady, who had assumed an air of great indifference, at first 
refused, on the ground that she hated these sudden moves, but al- 
lowed herself to be finally persuaded by Murkle to join the party; 
and the same night they were all en route for London. 

The following day was not far advanced before Sark received a 
missive from Mrs. Clymer informing him of her arrival in town, and 
requesting him to call upon her immediately. “If anybody calls, 
tell the servant to say I am out of town, and leave orders that all 
letters are to be kept to await my return ; and put up things enough 
for a week as quickly as possible, ” said his lordship to his valet, as 
he tossed the Clymer’s letter into the fire, evidently with no inten- 
tion of answering it. He was, in fact, expected at Beaucourt Castle 
that afternoon. As the duchess was a woman of large sympathies, 
possessed a generous nature, had been devotedly attached to her 
nephew from his boyhood, and had been sincerely pained by the in- 
fatuation which had for the last few years taken possession of him, 
to the exclusion of those public interests to which she had expected 
him to devote his talents, she was only too delighted to co-operate 
in any schemes that might wean him back to the life she longed to 
see him lead. She made rather a wry face when she found he had 
substituted a Californian heiress for the cosmopolitan adventuress, 
and plaintively objected that he would have done better to look 
among the countrywomen of his own class, instead of running the 
risk of transferring his affections from one American to another. 
However, she consented to invite the two girls, and to chaperon them 
herself, if, on inspection, she found they were presentable ; if not, 
she stipulated beforehand that Sark was somehow or other to get 


ALTIOIiA PETO. 


97 


rid of them in twenty-four hours. “ It is amazing,” she said, “the 
way in which society is being taken by storm by our transatlantic 
cousins. It is enough, if they have pretty faces and fortunes, and 
are Americans, to insure them the entree into houses from which 
Englishwomen just as rich, just as pretty, and far better born, are 
jealously excluded.” 

“ If I were a middle-class Englishman, a railway contractor, or a 
cable company promoter, or a cotton-spinner, or a chap of that sort, 
you know, who had made some money, and wanted to get my wife 
and family into society, do you know what I would do?” said Lord 
Grandchamp, the duke’s eldest son. “I should take my wife and 
girls to America, and live there long enough to enable me to become 
an American citizen, and my girls to pick up New York manners — 
they are much better than those of our middle-class — a sort of French 
chic about them, you know, with a free-and-easy originality added — 
and then I’d send them over by themselves, without letting them 
tell anybody who they were, except that they were the daughters of 
a wealthy American who had millions of dollars, you know; and 
then, when they had both married fellows like Sark here, I’d turn 
up myself, and he’d find to his astonishment that he had a regular 
vulgar Britisher for his father-in-law, and a mother-in-law with a 
great red shawl, and big feet, and no h' s. What a sell it would 
be! — and richly he’d deserve it. How do you know,” he added, 
turning to Sark, “that this girl, Stella Walton, is not the daughter 
of old Wei ton, our head-gardener, who emigrated twenty years ago 
to America and made a fortune there? It only needs the change 
of a letter!” 

“Well, we ought to be grateful to a country whose institutions 
give us a chance of meeting upon equal terms with our gardeners’ 
daughters when they have developed a refinement and qualities of 
their own which make them desirable additions to our blase society. 
It acts upon my moral epidermis very much as effervescing salts put 
into my bathing water do upon my skin. I feel internally refreshed 
and invigorated. ” 

“ Well, Sark,” said the duchess, laughing, “it’s a pity you should 
monopolize the enjoyment of these sensations; so I will take your 
American friends on trust, and see what effect they produce upon 
my other visitors — so that matter is settled. Now tell me where I 
am to direct to them.” 

“Oh, that does not matter,” he said; “give the letter to me, and 
I will send it to them. But perhaps I had better tell you the whole 
story — only mind, Grandchamp, it is in the strictest confidence, so 
don’t go retailing it all over the clubs.” And Sark gave the duchess 

7 


98 


ALTIORA PETO. 


an account of the Grandesellas, and of his newly -found cousin, 
Altiora, which interested her so much that her heart warmed to the 
friendless girl, and she proposed to include her in the invitation. 
The fact that Sark had already made this suggestion to Altiora, and 
that she had shrunk from entering the world, even under the ducal 
auspices, only raised Altiora in the duchess’s good opinion, and she 
made a mental resolution to befriend her should opportunity offer. 

In the middle of their conversation the post arrived with a note 
from Bob Alderney, also proposing a visit. 

“Why,” asked the duchess, “what can induce the dear boy to tear 
himself from his beloved Oriental studies and his bosom friend in 
Paris to offer a visit here? I am sure I shall only be too delighted 
to see him. I ask him regularly every season, and he as regularly 
refuses. He writes from some place in Devonshire.” 

“Perhaps he is after the other Californian girl,” said Grand- 
champ, acutely. 

“I shouldn’t wonder,” said Sark, with a smile. “However, aunt, 
you’ll grant his request, I hope, and then you’ll have an opportunity 
of judging for yourself.” 

That evening the post carried two letters, both addressed to 
Copleydale — one from the duchess to Bob Alderney, and the other 
from Sark to Stella, enclosing an invitation for herself and Mattie 
to Beaucourt. 

“ That will do capitally,” said Sark to himself. “Bob can escort 
them here, and I will wait to receive them. It is lucky that the 
duchess is going to have a houseful of people; it will give them 
some idea of life in an English country house.” 

The Duchess of Beaucourt was a good-natured, easy-going woman 
of the world, by no means disposed to take a strait-laced view of its 
short-comings, and always ready to make allowances for those irreg- 
ularities which, to her mind, gave a decided piquancy to society. 
She had regretted Sark’s devotion to the Clymer, not so much be- 
cause it was wrong in itself, as because it interfered with his worldly 
prospects. She had been a beautiful and dashing woman in her 
youth ; and more than once, had she been Mrs. Smith instead of a 
duchess, her social position would have been seriously compromised 
by sundry affaires de crnur, for which, however, allowances were 
made, partly because the duke, who was as popular among women 
as she was among men, utterly ignored any consciousness of his 
wife’s flirtations, and the cordial understanding which seemed to 
exist between them was never disturbed by their intimacy with 
members of the opposite sexes, and partly because people said she 
dispensed her favors out of sheer amiability and good-nature, and 


ALTIOliA PETO. 


99 


that it was rather under the influence of a lavish generosity of char- 
acter than of any essentially improper tendencies that she allowed 
enterprising admirers to compromise her by their attentions. Be- 
sides, people made allowances for a pardonable vanity in a woman 
of such great personal attractions. It is doubtful, however, whether 
they would have been so lenient had she not been a duchess, with a 
charming place in the country, one of the principal attractions of 
which consisted in the fact that she understood exactly how to 
select her guests, which she divided into appropriate categories. 
Thus she generally opened her autumn parties with groups of dis- 
tinguished politicians. As the duke had never taken an active part 
in politics, and as both he and the duchess were people of wide 
sympathies, Cabinet ministers and leading politicians of all shades 
met here on a sort of neutral ground ; then, as talent was to be en- 
couraged, and clever men were more or less lions, and agreeable ad- 
ditions to the aristocracy, these gatherings were pleasurably flavored 
with artists, philosophers, authors, with a celebrated traveller or dis- 
tinguished foreigner thrown in. Thus science, politics, art, and lit- 
erature were skilfully mingled; and, for people who were not very 
dependent for their amusement on a brilliant display of feminine 
wit and beauty, went off successfully. For the wives of the states- 
men and politicians were generally elderly and more or less dull, 
their daughters too correct in their behavior to be amusing, and the 
philosophers, artists, and authors were generally either bachelors, 
or, if they had wives, left them at home. Then there were one or 
two parties of county people, with perhaps a bishop, and sundry 
London people the reverse of smart, who, for some reason or other, 
had claims upon the ducal hospitality. When these had all been 
disposed of, and the time came for the shooting-parties, the fun of 
the festivities might be said to begin. Then came the turn of the 
beauties, more or less fast and professional, and of the girls whose 
mammas were too anxious to get them well married to care whom 
they met, particularly when the meeting- place was Beaucourt Castle; 
and of the smart young men about town, some of whom were most 
desirable elder sons ; and of old roues who had known the duchess 
in her youth, and whom she now invited out of sheer good-nature, 
because she knew that it warmed up their battered old hearts to be 
surrounded by a lot of pretty women whose flirtations they superin- 
tended in a fatherly sort of way, which carried with it its own privi- 
leges ; besides which, there was always an old dowager or two of 
questionable notoriety and great social distinction, whose early ex- 
perience had not altogether been unmixed with those of the old roues , 
and with whom, therefore, a certain tenderness of relation still ex- 


100 


ALTIORA PJETO. 


isted as they reverted sentimentally to those episodes of years gone 
by, and morally festooned their immortelles over the sacred season 
of their youth. 

It was to meet a houseful thus selected that Sark despatched the 
invitation to the two girls at Copley dale, with no little inward en- 
joyment of the treat in store for them; for he was too much accus- 
tomed to such society to think it anything but delightful, though he 
could not but own, as he looked through the list of guests furnished 
him by his aunt, that it was just as well that Altiora was not to be 
of the party. 


CHAPTER XIY. 

BEAUCOUET CASTLE. 

Mrs. Clymer, unable to restrain her impatience when, after she 
had allowed a sufficient interval to elapse, Sark did not make his 
appearance, drove off herself to Grosvenor Square to make personal 
inquiries, and arrived there a few moments after he had taken his 
departure ; but the servants were too discreet to hazard any con- 
jecture as to the direction his lordship had taken. This uncertainty, 
however, in the case of so prominent a member of the aristocracy 
could not last long when such experienced sleuth-hounds as Baron 
Grandesella and Mr. Murkle were on the scent; and on the following 
morning the latter arrived at Mrs. Clymer’s “bijou residence” with 
the intelligence that his lordship was staying at Beaucourt, but 
that, although they were on the track of Alderney, they had not yet 
been able to discover his whereabouts or that of the girls. It had 
been decided by the Grandesellas that the whole episode might be 
turned to valuable social account if a proper interest was excited in 
it, which should not take the form of a scandal, but rather of a mys- 
tery, in some way connected with a tender attachment between Al- 
tiora and her cousin Sark; and that, in fact, if dexterously managed, 
it might be the means of acquiring for the baron and baroness a not 
unenviable fashion able notoriety. W ith a lovely and beautiful heiress 
for a daughter, with an earl for her cousin — who was consoling him- 
self by a visit to his uncle, the duke, during the romantic and mys- 
terious disappearance under the most uncompromising circumstances 
of the cousin of his love— the Italian adventurer and his wife were 
supplied with aristocratic materials enough, if they were only cleverly 
employed, to compensate for any temporary inconvenience to which 
they had been subjected by Altiora’s conduct; and they began rather 
to enjoy the complication to which it had given rise than otherwise. 


ALTIORA TETO. 


101 


Mr. Murkle and Mrs. Clymer, however, took a very different view 
of matters, and put their heads together, and plotted vengeance, and 
concocted schemes of discovery, from which the baron and baron- 
ess were excluded, in which interesting occupation they were sud- 
denly provided with a valuable and most unexpected ally. This 
was none other than Ronald MacAlpine, who, finding his occupa- 
tion gone when the whole party had vanished so mysteriously from 
Paris, followed them to London, and now heard the whole of the 
singular history from the lips of Mr. Murkle and Mrs. Clymer, upon 
which lady he had made it a point to call immediately on his arrival 
in town. 

“I came across in the same train with Hetherington, ” he said, 
“but I failed to extract any of the facts as you give them. All he 
seemed to know or was willing to tell was, that all our party except 
ourselves had left Paris. I thought it — er — most extremely singular 
of none of you to say a word of your intentions beforehand. I 
have no doubt Hetherington knows where Miss Peto is, and has 
gone straight to her. You have perceived, doubtless, how deeply 
his affections are engaged in that quarter.” 

“All we know at present is,” said Mrs. Clymer, “ that Sark is at 
Beaucourt, and that he knows where the fugitives are hiding. The 
Grandesellas are evidently satisfied to let matters take their own 
course at present ; but both Mr. Murkle and I have reasons for 
wishing to bring this absurd escapade to an end.” 

“ The best plan will be,” said Ronald, “for me to propose to go 
myself to Beaucourt. The duchess invited me just before I went 
to Paris, and I asked her to allow me to postpone my visit. I shall 
easily be able to find out something from Sark ; at any rate, I can 
keep you informed of his movements.” 

“ I think,” said Murkle, “that I am justified in telling you, under 
the circumstances, what, of course, you will consider absolutely con- 
fidential so far as the general public is concerned, that I am engaged 
to be married to Miss Walton. Mrs. Clymer, to whom I communi- 
cated this fact, agrees with me in thinking that Lord Sark ought at 
once to be warned against indulging in hopes which can only end 
in disappointment. Should you go to Beaucourt you may have an 
opportunity of saying something on the subject, but it must be left 
to your own discretion to make a judicious use of this informa- 
tion.” 

Murkle and Mrs. Clymer had, indeed, already decided that, al- 
though the facts did not altogether warrant this assertion, it was 
one which, for the purpose of influencing Sark, it was quite lawful 
to make ; and the former was not sorry to impart it as a piece of 


102 


ALTIORA PETO. 


intelligence to Mac Alpine, whose own attentions to the heiress had 
of late been inconveniently assiduous. 

“Iam sure,” said Mrs. Clymer, by way of furnishing Ronald with 
another hint for his guidance, “if Sark only knew how devotedly 
attached his cousin Altiora was to him he would not wound her 
feelings by flirting ostentatiously with that vulgar Californian.” 

“You quite surprise me,” said Ronald, who thus saw his hopes 
vanishing in every direction. “Murkle engaged to be married to 
Miss Walton! Pray accept — er — my congratulations” — and he 
bowed, with a forced smile, to that gentleman. “And Miss Peto 
attached to Lord Sark ! Pray, Mrs. Clymer, what authority have 
you for this statement?” 

“The authority of my own observation, which is the best, and the 
admission of the girl’s own mother.” 

“And,” added Murkle, “her own acknowledgment of the fact to 
me, as one of her oldest friends; but this is, of course, again in con- 
fidence.” 

‘ ‘ I think, ” remarked Mrs. Clymer, after Mac Alpine had taken his 
departure, “that if he uses this information with which we have 
supplied him with tact and discretion, and if we supplement it with 
a little private correspondence of our own to the parties chiefly in- 
terested, we ought to complicate matters sufficiently to prevent any 
serious mischief arising out of the present situation, which is too 
strained to last very long.” 

Three days after she received the following letter from MacAl- 
pine, dated Beaucourt : 

“Dear Mrs. Clymer,— Whom should I meet on the platform 
of the station for Beaucourt but Miss Terrill, Miss Walton, and Al- 
derney, who had accompanied them from their undiscovered seclu- 
sion, while Sark was waiting to receive them ! They were somewhat 
disconcerted on my making my appearance, and Lord Sark mut- 
tered something about an unexpected pleasure, as he had not ob- 
served my name in his aunt’s list of guests. 

“Miss Peto, with the elderly person named Hannah, is, it appears, 
hiding in some remote village the name of which I have not yet 
been able to discover; but I have lost no time in letting you know 
this much, as you will at once perceive what a favorable opportu- 
nity is afforded me for making use of the information with which 
you and Murkle were so good as to furnish me. 

“Yours sincerely, Ronald MacAlpine.” 

Two days later the Beaucourt post-bag contained the following 
letter from Mattie Terrill to her friends at Copleydale : 


ALTIORA RETO. 


103 


“My darling old Hannah,— Stella wrote a line to Altiora to 
tell you of our safe arrival, and how we met Mr. MacAlpine and 
Lord Sark at the station, and how we were received at Beaucourt by 
four men with whitewashed heads, red- plush breeches and waist- 
coats, and silk stockings and buff-colored coats, with cords dangling 
over their shoulders ; and how a gentlemanlike personage in evening 
dress, who was called the groom of the chambers, and we thought 
at first was one of the family, and therefore a relative perhaps of 
Altiora, showed us to our bedrooms; but .she had not time to tell 
you more, to save the mail, so I will go on. We had not seen any- 
body then, because it was past seven, and they were all dressing for 
dinner. Well, we fixed ourselves fit to kill, you bet. We had not 
been six weeks in Paris for nothing; and Stella insisted upon not 
keeping all my jewels to herself, but making me wear some. I 
don’t think I ever did see anything handsomer than Stella looked 
in that mother-of-pearl embroidery and pink ostrich-feather dress, 
with the long brocade train that we got at Worth’s. 

“Well, just as we were ready, and were wondering what to do 
next, we heard a knock at the door, and in came a handsome old 
lady, with a magnificent tiara of diamonds, and a most benevolent 
eye and sweet smile and winning manner, and shook us both warm- 
ly by the hand, and told us she was the duchess, and would show 
us the way to the drawing-room; and on the stairs, quite accident- 
ally, of course, we met Bob, and at the drawing-room door, also quite 
accidentally, Lord Sark ; so we made our entree well protected. The 
duchess said she thought, as we were alone, we might feel a little 
timid among so many strangers. I guess if she had seen a little 
more of life she would not have made that mistake. We found the 
room full of people. Some of the ladies looked at us as if we were 
wild beasts: I think they expected us to draw revolvers and shoot 
freely. Others took no notice of us; but the men took a warm and 
sympathetic interest in us, which only made the women madder. 
Some of these Englishmen are perfectly splendid, and I had just 
been introduced to one of them, when dinner was announced, and 
Bob came and offered me his arm. Luckily, he has not got much 
rank, so he fell quite naturally to me ; but Lord Sark had to take 
in the old Countess of Broadmere — she is what they call a dowager, 
because her husband is dead. We should call her a widow. I 
counted twenty-six at dinner, and Bob told me all their names and 
something about each. There was the Marquis and Marchioness of 
Swansdowne and their two daughters, Lady Florence and Lady 
Blanche Featherpoll — I’ll tell you about them later. And Lord 
and Lady Grandchamp, the duke’s eldest son and his wife. And 


104 


ALTIORA PETO. 


old Lord Cracklehurst, with deep lines all over his face, and an eye- 
glass and a hooked nose. He kept staring at Stella all dinner-time; 
and Boh said he was very popular with young women, and respected 
by young men still, because he was celebrated as having been the 
wickedest young man of his day. And old Lady Broadmere, who, 
Bob declared, was wicked still; in fact, I had no idea Bob had such 
a bitter tongue. And the Honorable Mrs. Haseleyne, who was sep- 
arated from her husband ; but the fault, Bob said, was all on his 
side, ‘ of course.’ And the Russian Princess Chemiseoff, who chat- 
tered broken English with the most charming vivacity, and was ever 
so bright, and seemed quite young. Bob said her husband was in 
Bokhara, a governor-general or something ; and nobody knew ex- 
actly why she came and lived so much in England, but that made 
people all the more civil to her. And there was Mr. and Madame 
Lauriola. Bob said he was a great man in the City, and she was 
the last new professional beauty; he was a naturalized foreigner, 
but nobody knew anything definite as to his origin, but she insisted 
upon being called ‘Madame,’ because it gave her a sort of prestige. 
They had only risen above the social horizon two seasons before, but 
now they went everywhere, because Sir George Dashington, the 
duke’s nephew and Sark’s brother-in-law, had taken her up, and got 
the duchess, who was too good-natured, and his wife, who was too 
‘ timid, ’ to refuse, to take her about ; and Lauriola had put Sir 
George into no end of good City things, and he had made pots of 
money. And the Lauriolas had given the best entertainments of 
the year last season, and everybody had gone to them. And she 
had become quite the rage, because she said such impertinent things 
to the women, and allowed the men to say such impertinent things 
to her without taking offence. There was nothing you couldn’t say 
to her, said Bob, if you only knew how to put it. Her conversation 
was more risque than that of any woman in London; and with that, 
and a pretty face and lots of money, she was sure to get on. Alti- 
ora will tell you what risque means. I had to ask Bob. And then 
there was Miss Gazewell, Lady Broadmere’s niece, who tries to get a 
husband by imitating Madame Lauriola; but Bob says she won’t 
succeed, because men don’t like that sort of thing so much in their 
own wives as in those of their friends. Then there was Lord St. 
Olave, who, Bob says, is rather nice, and a great friend of Sark’s, 
and is in love with Lady Adela Dashington, Sark’s sister, because 
her husband, Sir George, insists that she is too proper, and does not 
make herself sufficiently admired by the men; so she allows St. 
Olave to worship, because he is a safe man, with a certain sense of 
honor. It seems she does not go in for flirtations, except to please 


ALTIORA PETO. 


105 


Sir George, who feels more at liberty then. And there was the 
Honorable Frank Basinghall, who is Mrs. Haseleyne’s ‘ man. ’ Bob 
said that was what he was always called about town, and that was 
all he knew about him. He did not go in much for those kind of 
men himself. Besides these, there was Colonel Lysper, of the 
Guards, who flirted with Madame Lauriola, in order to curry favor 
with the City magnate, and be put into good things; and Mr. Mac- 
Alpine; and last of all the old duke himself, who flirted in the most 
paternal way with all indiscriminately, and seems as much the 
essence of good-nature as his wife does. There, now, Hannah, you 
won’t be able to understand most of this, because it is such a high 
state of civilization; and if Altiora can’t explain it, you must ask 
Mr. Hetlierington; and if he can’t or won’t, you had better not know 
it— it might hurt your dear old morals. Luckily for Stella and me, 
ours are cast-iron; but we tremble when we think what the conse- 
quences might have been had we brought you with us. 

“We stayed a little longer than, I believe, is usual after dinner, 
because the Princess Chemiseoff and Madame Lauriola both liked 
to smoke their cigarettes over their coffee with the men — and I ex- 
pected to see Stella prove her efficiency in the newly-acquired art; 
but when she was offered one she declined, saying that she only 
smoked strong perique, in Manzanita-wood pipes. There happened 
to be a pause when she said it, in the most quiet, commonplace tones 
imaginable. The ladies all looked at her with silent horror ; though, if 
it was true, I don’t see why perique is so much more dreadful than 
Turkish tobacco, or Manzanita-wood than cigarette-paper. In fact, 
nobody knew what one or the other was; so she had to invent a de- 
scription of perique, which she does not know anything about either; 
and Mr. Lauriola undertook to correct her, because, he said, he had 
been a good deal in early life in New Orleans. So she asked him, quite 
innocently, if he was any relation to the Lauriola who keeps a tobac- 
conist’s store in Carondelet Street. If a shell had burst in the middle 
of the table it could not have produced a greater effect than this very 
natural remark; but Stella told me afterward she did it on purpose, 
to pay Madame Lauriola off for some impertinent remarks she over- 
heard her make to Colonel Lysper about us, in quite a loud tone. 
She said, as she was using her faculty of invention about perique, 
she thought she might as well invent Lauriola, the tobacconist. I 
am sure neither of them will ever forgive her, but I could see some 
of the gentlemen highly appreciated the joke. Indeed, old Lord 
Cracklehurst gave a sort of approving ‘Haw, haw!’ — which sounded 
like ‘ Hear, hear !’ which, Bob says, is all he has ever said in the 
House of Lords — and they all began to talk very loud, apparently 


106 


ALTIORA PETO. 


in the hope of forgetting as soon as possible that, for all they 
knew, they might actually he sitting at the same table with a man 
whose brother was a tobacconist; and in the middle of the noise the 
ladies escaped, and Lady Broadmere came running up to Stella as 
soon as we got to the drawing-room, and said, ‘ Tell me, dear, is it 
true that Mr. Lauriola’s brother is a tobacconist ?’ And Mrs. 
Haseleyne came up to me and said, ‘ What a clever, satirical, beau- 
tiful creature your friend is! I assure you I am quite afraid of her. 
She kept Sir George Dashington, who sat between us, in fits of 
laughter all dinner-time, and made herself so agreeable I could not 
get a word in. Are you both coming to London this season? She’ll 
make quite a furore — and with her fortune, too!’ 

“Lady Swansdowne and her daughters, Madame Lauriola and 
Miss Gazewell, formed a sort of coterie apart, and treated us with 
silent contempt; and the Russian princess gazed at us with a sort 
of amiable amazement, first whispering to the duchess, and then 
staring at us through her gold eye-glasses, so that we should have 
no doubt who she was talking about, and apparently wishing us 
to understand that she was interested in us, as new specimens. But 
the only really nice woman was the duke’s niece, Lady Adela Dash- 
ington, who came and talked to me, while Stella, after answering 
Lady Broadmere’s questions, was posting herself upon social sub- 
jects from that experienced dowager, so, as she told me afterward, 
she might know the ropes generally. When the men came in there 
was a general shufiHe, and a little game of some sort going on all 
round. I could see that Madame Lauriola was quite mad with her 
‘man,’ Sir George Dashington, because Stella had fascinated him 
at dinner ; and he wanted to get back to her now, but madame 
would not let him; and Mrs. Haseleyne’s man was angry because 
Colonel Lysper had monopolized the only vacant chair near her, 
and prowled about like a discontented wild-cat; and old Crackle- 
hurst began a sort of fossil flirtation, in a loud tone, with Lady 
Broadmere; and Sark and MacAlpine both made a dead point at 
Stella, and finally sat down, one on each side of her; and Miss Gaze- 
well was furious because no one would flirt with her ; and Lady 
Swansdowne was furious because Lord Grandchamp was keeping 
the young men away from her pretty daughter, Lady Florence ; 
and she and Lady Grandchamp consoled each other and gazed at 
him ; and Lord St. Olave went into a corner with Lady Adela Dash- 
ington ; and Lauriola fastened himself on to the duke, because he 
was a duke, and talked politics ; and Bob came to me ; and the 
Russian princess seemed to have a great deal to say to the duchess, 
and kept watchful eyes upon everybody through her eye-glasses. 


ALTIORA PETO. 


107 

“Then there was another general shuffle, when we had some 
rather bad music ; and Stella and I at last were asked if we played 
or sang. You know what a voice she has, and you know that I 
was considered Hartman’s best pupil at San Francisco. So when 
she sang and I played she exploded shell No. 2. Madame Lauriola 
tried to go on talking, but her voice died away in the stillness of 
the general hush of admiration ; and the dear girl surpassed herself 
in those chest-notes of hers, so that there was a burst of applause 
when she had finished that carried dismay into many feminine 
bosoms. And I overheard Lord Grandcliamp say to Sark, ‘ Why, 
my dear Sark, the Clymer is not a patch upon her,’ or some such 
thing, which I suppose is an Anglicism. 

“We went off to bed, consequently, in a blaze of triumph, and 
found that breakfast next morning was a sort of movable meal, 
w r hich began about ten, and went on for an hour and a half — people 
coming down when they liked, and sitting about at separate tables, 
like a restaurant. The dandily-dressed men of the night before all 
seemed to me suddenly transformed into teamsters ; they wore 
enormous hob -nailed boots, and gaiters or long stockings, and 
breeches or knickerbockers, and coarse, rough shooting-jackets and 
vests, and ate large breakfasts, everybody going to the side-tables 
and helping themselves. I don’t know where all the servants with 
the whitewashed heads were, but they left us to ourselves— even the 
duke went and cut his own ham; and then they all started off to 
shoot, and left us to ourselves. Even Bob said he couldn’t get off 
going. I felt quite ashamed of his legs when I compared them with 
some of the others, and he seemed quite out of his element; but he 
said the alternative was to face thirteen women and MacAlpine, 
whom he put in as one extra, and that was more than he could 
stand, even though I was one of them. So we were left to stew in 
our own juice; and I thought I could not employ my time better 
than in writing you these first impressions of the British aristoc- 
racy, while they are, no doubt, exchanging their first impressions 
about me. Lovingly, Mattie. ” 


CHAPTER XV. 

THE EARL OF SARK AT BAY. 

If Mattie could have gone into the smoking-room with the gen- 
tlemen, instead of going to bed with her friend, on the night before 
she wrote her letter, she might have overheard a conversation be- 


108 


ALTIORA VETO. 


tween Sark and MacAlpine in a quiet corner of that midnight resort 
which would have seriously increased its hulk. 

“I am so glad to have a quiet moment with you,” said Mac- 
Alpine, “to ask if you can give me any information about that most 
mysterious — er — I think our American friends would call it — stam- 
pede which you made with them and Miss Peto from Paris?” 

“I did not make any stampede with them,” returned Sark, short- 
ly; “I came over from Paris to London by myself.” 

“Oh — er — then, perhaps, you can tell me why they went off so 
extremely suddenly by themselves, and where Miss Peto is now?” 

“I am not aware that, even supposing I know, I owe you any 
confidence on the subject,” Sark answered, still more brusquely. 

“I assure you I am the last person to interfere in matters which 
don’t concern me, or to allow any mere curiosity to influence me; 
but this is a subject in which I have some sort of indirect interest. 
I don’t mind telling you now that not long since I proposed to Miss 
Peto, and had some reason to believe that any mere prejudice she 
might entertain in regard to certain — er — philosophical opinions 
which I hold might be overcome, when I found a most unexpected 
— er — obstacle in Paris, and this I have good reason for saying is 
none other than yourself. ” 

“Myself !” ejaculated Lord Sark, amazed. 

“ So Murkle has assured me on a confidential occasion, the details 
of which it is not necessary to mention. Miss Peto seems to have 
given him to understand that she had placed her affections irrevo- 
cably upon your lordship. You know, Murkle has known her from 
her childhood.” 

“Impossible !” said Sark. * * I have equally good reason for know- 
ing the contrary. ” 

“You will pardon me for saying that you have been misled. I 
can quite imagine that Miss Peto carefully concealed from you the 
nature of her feelings ; indeed, she has good reason for doing so ; and 
I don’t see how, considering your undisguised admiration for Miss 
Walton, and your no less notorious — er — pardon me — intimacy with 
Mrs. Clymer, she could do otherwise ; but you may depend upon it 
the facts are as she stated them to Murkle. It may render you less 
sceptical if I add that he was at the time informing her of his 
engagement to Miss Walton.” 

“You mean, render me more sceptical!” exclaimed Sark, still 
more overcome with astonishment. “Do you mean to tell me that 
Miss Walton has engaged herself to Murkle?” 

“I think you will find that to be the case; but I don’t think, from 
what he said, that she wishes it known until she has enjoyed a little 


ALTIORA PETO. 109 

more unmarried freedom in England. These sort of— er — pro- 
visional arrangements are an American custom, you know.” 

“I don’t know anything about American customs,” said Sark, 
who now began to feel as thoroughly uncomfortable at the idea of 
Altiora, on his account, having become the victim of an unrequited 
attachment, as of the heiress being engaged to Murkle. 

“Well, now that you know the facts of the case, I hope you con- 
sider that I was justified in making the inquiries I did about Miss 
Peto. I was actuated merely by — er — a sentiment of interest to- 
ward her, and I know no man who can extricate her from the — er 
— false position in which she has placed herself so well as yourself.” 

Sark threw away the stump of his cigar with an indignant jerk, 
took up his bedroom candle, and, with an abrupt “Good-night,” 
turned on his heel, without vouchsafing any reply to this piece of 
advice. The result of his deliberations was a conversation with 
Stella when the ladies came out in a train of carriages to lunch 
with the gentlemen at a shooting-cottage and inspect the result of 
the morning’s sport. It was no easy work to disentangle that young 
lady from a group of admirers ; but he was ably seconded by 
Ronald, who had silently watched the effect of the dose he had 
administered on the previous evening, and drew her off to where 
some bowlders of rock afforded a seat and a shelter. 

Stella’s manner to Lord Sark had changed a good deal since he 
had proved his devotion by following her from Paris and getting 
her invited to Beaucourt, but was still cold and distant. She seemed 
to him now especially unapproachable and on her guard. 

“Miss Walton,” he said, “I have forborne from troubling you 
with an admiration which seems to annoy you, as my only desire, 
while you are staying here, is that you should thoroughly enjoy 
yourself ; but I have heard something in regard to which, as it affects 
the happiness of another in whom we are both interested, I cannot 
keep silence. You know my cousin Altiora so well that I am sure 
you will answer my question, though I feel it is an extremely em- 
barrassing one to put.” 

‘ ‘ Gladly and truly, if I can, ” said Stella, much relieved to find 
that it had no reference to herself. 

“Did my cousin Altiora ever give you reason to suppose that she 
cared for me?” 

Now, Stella, as we have seen, had convinced herself, by many 
signs known to sensitive young ladies too generous to be jealous, 
but not the less alive to a certain kind of suspicion where their 
affections are concerned, that Altiora was in love with her cousin, 
and had only concealed it because she had perceived that Sark had 


no 


ALT 10 R A PETO. 


only slipped from the thraldom of the Clymer, whom she despised, 
to succumb to the fascinations of her friend; and she partly attrib- 
uted the desire Altiora had shown — first, to break the tie which ex- 
isted between her cousin and Mrs. Clymer ; and second, to escape 
herself from the influence of that woman — to this cause. If she had 
any farther doubt upon the subject, it was removed by the positive 
assurances of Murkle, which he had not failed to communicate to her 
after the conversation in which he imagined that she had admitted 
it ; and these had been supplemented by many slight innuendoes on 
the part of the baroness. She therefore hesitated and flushed when 
Sark put his question so abruptly in a manner which left no doubt 
in his mind that his worst suspicions were confirmed, and which 
almost rendered unnecessary her reply. 

“She has never mentioned the subject to me,” she said; “but I 
confess that her studious avoidance of it, and what I have observed 
and heard from her mother, has led me to believe that such was the 
case.” 

“And now may I ask you another question, Miss Walton?” 

“ I am not so sure about this one,” she replied, with instinctive 
apprehension. “ You must be careful. ” 

“But it is closely connected with the last — indeed, its answer will 
determine my course of conduct with regard to Altiora. ” 

“Go on, then,” she replied, shortly. 

“Are you engaged to be married to Mr. Murkle?” 

It was a supreme moment for the penniless Californian girl. She 
had only to tell the truth and say No to secure a countess’s coronet; 
for she knew that Sark only asked the question to clear the way for 
that other on which her own future happiness depended; and she 
felt that if she admitted she had listened to Murkle she would lose 
his good opinion, and that he would be drawn to Altiora by her 
love for him. But what made it hardest was, not that she would 
have to give up the coronet — for which, to do her justice, she cared 
very little — but the man, for whom she had learned to care a great 
deal; and he looked so handsome and so pleading at that moment, 
lying at her feet as she sat on the rock, that her heart seemed to go 
out to him, and to quiver with the effort of making her decision, 
without allowing the momentary doubt and hesitation, to become 
apparent in her features. Her lips, nevertheless, trembled slightly 
as she replied, 

“Mr. Murkle and I have some business matters to arrange, and 
one of them has reference to a matrimonial contract in regard to the 
details of which I am not at liberty to enter. I must ask you to be 
satisfied with this answer, and not to press me farther.” 


ALTIORA PETO. 


Ill 


“A provisional contract, such as, I understand, is made some- 
times across the Atlantic?” said Sark, bitterly; for the notion of her 
having consented to stand in any such relation to Murkle was more 
than he could bear. 

“A provisional contract,” she repeated, coldly, as she rose and 
walked off to join a group in the distance, leaving Sark chewing 
the cud of his disappointment and his tooth-pick. 

A letter which Mrs. Clymer received the day following this epi- 
sode from MacAlpine contained a very accurate report of his con- 
versation with Sark, and of the conclusions at which he had arrived 
in regard to the effect that it had produced; and he farther alluded 
incidentally to the success which had been achieved by the Amer- 
ican girls, and the jealousy which had been excited by them in the 
breast especially of Madame Lauriola. Now, it so happened that 
this passage Mrs. Clymer read to the Baroness Grandesella, and that 
the Grandesellas and Lauriolas had been on tolerably intimate terms 
before the latter had attained the summit of that social ambition 
toward which the former were still laboriously toiling; for they had 
been in many contracts together, had jointly promoted companies, 
and had been copartners of concessions. In fact, at this moment 
Lauriola was not altogether uninterested in the amalgamation of the 
Universal Scintillator with the Dark Continent Illumination Com- 
pany, which was taking place under the auspices of Grandesella and 
Murkle, ostensibly for the pecuniary benefit of Sark. When, there- 
fore, the respectable firm who controlled the destinies of Altiora 
discovered that the Lauriolas were at Beaucourt, after smothering 
the first pangs of envy they determined to turn this fortunate cir- 
cumstance to account according to their several instincts. Madame 
Grandesella decided to write to her dear Madame Lauriola, giving 
her a detailed history of the flight of Altiora with the young ladies 
who were now guests at Beaucourt, and of the concealment of her 
daughter under their auspices, and of the part Mrs. Clymer had 
played in the whole transaction, which, as Madame Lauriola and the 
Clymer were bitter enemies and social rivals, was a weapon in the 
hand of the former that she would not be slow to avail herself of. 
And Grandesella wrote to Lauriola, telling him he had good reason 
to think that Sark was likely to try and back out of the Electric 
Scintillating Companies’ amalgamation arrangement, and to extri- 
cate himself from his pecuniary difficulties by marrying the Califor- 
nian heiress, which should, at all hazards, be prevented. The con- 
sequence was, that the whole fashionable world was soon ringing 
with varied versions of the extraordinary event in high life, the 
interest of which centred at Beaucourt, and which propelled the 


112 


ALT 10 It A PETO. 


Grandesellas into that fashionable notoriety they courted at a single 
bound. Mrs. Haseleyne, who was one of the fashionable contribu- 
tors to a social weekly of those paragraphs that form the chronique 
scandaleuse of the aristocracy and that delight the middle class, 
wrote as follows : 

“ The Duke and Duchess of Beaucourt are entertaining a distin- 
guished party at Beaucourt Castle, including ‘the Marquis and 
Marchioness of Swansdowne and the Ladies Featherpoll, the Count- 
ess of Broadmere and Miss Gazewell, the Earl of Cracklehurst, the 
Earl of Sark, Lord St. Olave, the Princess Chemiseoff,’ ” and so on 
with the whole list, ending with Colonel Lysper; and then, in an- 
other paragraph: 

“ Great interest is attached to the celebrated Californian heiress 
and her friend, who are staying at the Castle, not merely on account 
of the extreme beauty and fabulous wealth of the former, which 
will render her one of the most prominent debutantes of the next 
London season, but in consequence of the share she has taken in 
an event which cannot fail to signalize her advent into the world 
of fashion. A week has scarcely elapsed since the lovely, accom- 
plished Miss Peto, a cousin of the Earl of Sark, and step-daughter 
of the eminent financier, Baron de Grandesella, fled from her home 
in Paris with Miss Walton and Miss Terrill, escorted, it is said, by 
Mr. Robert Alderney and an American duenna, with whom she is 
still in some place of concealment. It is understood that, as Miss 
Walton and Miss Terrill and Mr. Alderney refuse to give any in- 
formation in regard to the whereabouts of Miss Peto, Baron Grande- 
sella, who is her legal guardian, contemplates taking legal proceed- 
ings against them.” 

Then another: 

“It is whispered that the sudden disappearance of Lord Sark’s 
beautiful cousin is not altogether unconnected with another lumi- 
nary of fashion who burst upon us not long since from the other 
side of the Atlantic, and whom to allude to as the greatest social 
success of her first season is to name.” 

Then another: 

“If our American visitors are going to bring social storms with 
them, I really recommend the New York Herald to supplement its 
weather predictions with a social storm-register, thus : ‘ A danger- 
ous female combination has just left the shores of the Eastern 
States' May be expected off the west coast of Ireland about the 
22d or 23d.’” 

Then another: 

“I should advise investors to beware of amalgamation schemes 


ALT10RA PETO. 


113 


of Electric Light with Universal Scintillating Companies. I know 
nothing of Grandesella personally, but I do know Lauriola, and I 
am not totally unacquainted with the antecedents of Murkle. Per- 
haps the directors of the company of which that very estimable no- 
bleman, Lord Sark, is chairman may also, by this time, know some- 
thing of these gentlemen.” 

When these dexterously connected paragraphs were read by Baron 
Grandesella and his wife they threw them into a transport of de- 
light until they came to the last, when they suffered a temporary 
depression of spirits. Still, all publicity, even when it was not com- 
plimentary, suited the baron better than the silence of obscurity. 
And, after all, was he not called an eminent financier, and his step- 
daughter alluded to as the cousin of an earl? When Murkle read 
them he ground his teeth, and cursed the financial spy system of a 
libellous press. When Mrs. Clymer read them she smiled, conscious 
that the mysterious allusion to her would only have the effect of 
enhancing the interest she always excited. When Mrs. Haseleyne 
read them she was the first to point them out to the duchess, with 
the remark, “Isn’t it too bad, dear duchess, that these family epi- 
sodes should get out, and be given in such a garbled form to an in- 
quisitive public? I often do wonder how the editors of these social 
weeklies get their information.” For Mrs. Haseleyne lived in mor- 
tal dread of being discovered as the fashionable contributor to the 
one in question, and had managed to post her letter to the editor 
herself rather than trust it to the Beaucourt post-bag, and the editor 
had added the last paragraph to those she had sent him. And 
when Lord Sark read them he took them, with bitterness in his soul, 
to Stella, upon whom, with lover-like inconsistency, he now heaped 
the responsibility of all the discomfort of the situation generally. 
But Stella perused them, to his great annoyance, with much equa- 
nimity and apparent interest. 

“Why, this is becoming positively exciting!” she remarked. 
“Fancy beginning my experiences in England by a lawsuit to re- 
tain possession of a persecuted young lady ! I declare it’s perfectly 
splendid. I must go and consult Bob and Mattie.” 

The fact was, that she and Bob and Mattie had all three become 
pretty well hardened by this time, to such a storm of curious in- 
quiry had they been subjected from the moment that Madame Lau- 
riola had imparted the contents of Baroness Grandesella’s letter to a 
select feminine group, of which, as we have seen, Mrs. Haseleyne 
proved a not inattentive listener. 

“Who are these Grandesellas, my dear?” asked Lady Broadmere 
of Madame Lauriola. “ I never heard of them.” 

8 


114 


ALTIORA PETO. 


“ Upstarts, who are trying to push their way into society,” replied 
that lady. ‘ ‘ I only know Madame Grandesella slightly. My hus- 
band, I believe, has had some business matters to arrange with him.” 

“But I don’t quite understand,” said Lady Swansdowne, “what 
Mrs. Clymer had to do with it. Why on earth did the girl run 
away from Mrs. Clymer? I should have thought her a most ad- 
vantageous acquaintance for a girl in her position.” 

“Oh, as for her running away from Mrs. Clymer,” responded Ma- 
dame Lauriola, spitefully, ‘ * I don’t wonder at that ; but they evi- 
dently quarrelled over Sark, at whose head probably the baroness 
wanted to fling her daughter. To get at the rights of the story, you 
would have to ask Sark.” And Mrs. Haseleyne made a mental 
memorandum that she would see how much she could extract from 
his unsuspicious lordship, in her quality of secret reporter for the 
press. 

“ Zat is one of ze most strange histoires I ever did hear,” remarked 
the Princess Chemiseoff. “Ze girl is hiding from her parents, and 
zere are tree or four persons in zis house who knows vere she is, 
and you cannot find her. What is ze police about?” 

“Oh, it is not a matter for the police,” said Lady Adela Dashing- 
ton. “Poor Sark, how annoyed he will be at having his name 
dragged into it all! I wonder who will break it to the duchess?” 
But, as we have seen, the duchess had been prepared for it all, in 
the first instance, by Sark himself, though she never expected it to 
become a matter of public notoriety. And, with her usual thought- 
ful kindness, she no sooner heard of the letter Madame Lauriola 
had received, than she went off to prepare her American guests for 
the severe fire of cross-examination they were likely to encounter ; 
but the coolness they displayed under that fire, and the skill they 
exhibited in baffling their adversaries, did credit to their Cedar 
Buttes education. 

“I have had no intimation from the Baron and Baroness Grande- 
sella,” said Stella, “that their daughter is staying with my friend in 
the country against her will ; they have never communicated with 
me on the subject. Of course I don’t know anything about your 
English ways, and supposed a girl did not always require to ask 
leave of her parents before going to pay a visit to her friends. In- 
deed, I wrote myself to the baroness to tell she was coming with us, 
and I supposed that was enough; but you English are so absurdly 
particular. ” 

‘ ‘ Particular ! Mon Dieu /” said the princess, ‘ ‘ zey are not half so 
particular as ze Russians.” And she looked across the lawn at Miss 
Gazewell going out for a Ute-a-tete ride with Colonel Lysper. 


ALTIORA PETO. 


115 


“Do tell us what Mrs. Clymer had to do with it?” asked Lady 
Florence Featherpoll. “ She is one ol my dearest friends. I think 
her quite too deliciously enchanting. I am just writing to ask her 
all about it.” 

“Then wait for her answer, my dear,” said Stella, who had 
learned to imitate Lady Broadmere’s patronizing “my dear” with 
a nicety that made Lady Florence flush with indignation, and ev- 
erybody else titter. Bob rose so much in Mattie’s estimation by a 
trick he had, when asked compromising questions, of sticking his 
glass in his eye and staring blankly through it at his questioner, as 
if he was gradually sinking into a state of mental imbecility, and 
then asking him silly questions, that in a moment of enthusiasm, 
after he had particularly distinguished himself, she murmured affec- 
tionately, “Why, you splendid Bob, I take back all I said about 
making you go on to the Stock Exchange! You are too clever for 
it. Just you hang on to the Zend Avesta.” 

There were two men, however, one of whom was made thoroughly 
happy, and the other equally miserable, by the whole episode. The 
first was MacAlpine, and the other was Sark. The former just 
knew enough to be able to give little dissertations to all inquirers, 
and air his elegant diction and authoritative utterance with the 
bland consciousness of superior information, which, moreover, ena- 
bled him to assume an air of mystery, as though there was much 
that he knew that he did not tell ; whereas, in point of fact, he told 
a good deal more than he knew. Sark, on the other hand, was ut- 
terly unapproachable, even by the boldest, on the subject. There 
was that about him which, when he was roused from the apathy 
that had enabled the Clymer to rivet her chains upon him, made 
men and women careful how they ventured too rashly on a famil- 
iarity which he did not invite. So he had no difficulty in avoiding 
cross-examination; but his position in the affair was all the more 
canvassed, especially when the paragraphs in the social weekly ap- 
peared, and his connection wijih a questionable financial arrange- 
ment was appended to the domestic scandal. 

“ I see,” said Lauriola to Sark, as they sat together watching Lys- 
per and Basinghall playing billiards: “that infernal scoundrel, who 
makes it his business to attack me in all my business operations, 
has taken the liberty of connecting your lordship’s name with mine, 
with reference to that amalgamation scheme in which we are both 
interested. I have a letter from Murkle on the subject of that last 
transfer which your lordship has undertaken to complete.” 

“I think we had better not drag business affairs into our life 
here,” replied Sark. “As for the paragraph, I deliberately rushed 


116 


ALTIOliA PETO. 


upon my fate when I went into the City, and I don’t complain. I 
should say you had made enough, Lauriola, not to mind a little dirt 
being thrown at you. A dab or two more or less won’t make much 
difference.” And his lordship turned on his heel, leaving the finan- 
cier to pour out his feelings to MacAlpine, who came and took the 
vacant seat. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

A LITTLE FASHIONABLE CONVERSATION. 

Albert Lauriola was, morally and physically, a coarse-fibred, 
stumpy little man, with a very slight foreign accent, whose vulgarity 
would have fatally handicapped any other woman than his lovely 
and talented wife in the social scratch race. He was, therefore, all 
the more proud of the success which he had achieved, and his inor- 
dinate vanity led him constantly to expatiate upon it. 

“ This affair may turn out a lucky coup socially for Grandesella,” 
he said, turning to MacAlpine, after Sark had left. “ It just gives 
him the kind of notoriety he wants. It has been a curious race all 
through life between us. I bet him an even hundred I’d get made 
a baron before he did, and he won. Then I bet Murkle I would get 
into Parliament before he did, and I lost again. Then Grandesella 
bet me that he would win the blue ribbon of society before I did, 
and I won ; but I knew with my wife I was safe. Bless you, she’s 
a woman in a thousand! Nothing could stand against her. Now, 
that step- daughter of Grandesella’s ought to carry him anywhere. 
His wife is against him — she’s downright vulgar, you know ; but 
they tell me the girl is as handsome as a Peri — one of your regular 
blue-blooded ones ; and so she ought to be, seeing she’s Sark’s cousin. 
It’s a great chance for Grandesella, to be sure. ” 

“Tell us how you went to work to make your own running, old 
man,” said Basinghall, who had fin^hed his game and overheard 
Lauriola’s last few remarks, and who perceived that he was under 
the influence of sundry sodas-and-brandies, and therefore in a com- 
municative mood, and not likely easily to take offence. Basinghall, 
as “Mrs. Haseleyne’s man,” used to make himself useful in picking 
up interesting scraps of information — likely in this case to be es- 
pecially welcome, as he had a grudge against Madame Lauriola. 
“To tell you the truth, I never could understand how you and your 
wife managed to achieve your brilliant social success so rapidly.” 

Lauriola, who was as vain as he was vulgar, flattered by the 
marked attention which his three listeners — for Lysper had joined 


ALTIORA PETO. 


117 


the other two — seemed inclined to accord to a recital of his great 
social achievements, was probably more expansive than he would 
have been under other circumstances — certainly much more so than 
if madame had been present. 

‘ ‘ Why, you see, my little woman is ambitious, and clever as she 
is— though I say it that shouldn’t — beautiful. 

‘ ‘ ‘ Albert, ’ she said to me one day, ‘ how is it you never bring any 
peers or noblemen to see me?’ 

“That was just after I had completed my contracts for the Sub- 
marine Telephonic Company, which brought me in pretty near half 
a million. 

“ ‘ I was looking through the names of the directors of some of 
the boards you are on,’ she said. ‘ There’s the Earl of Creedmore, 
and Lord Pytchley, and Sir George Dashington.’ 

“ ‘I only know them officially,’ I said. ‘I couldn’t venture to 
ask them to come, and they wouldn’t come if I did.’ 

“ ‘ Come out and drive with me in the Park to-morrow, and we’ll 
look for some of them,’ says she. 

“The first man we saw riding next day was Dashington; and 
when he nodded to me he looked pretty hard at her; and next 
board meeting she came to call at the company’s offices in the 
brougham, and sent me up a note to say she was waiting. It had 
been arranged before that I was accidentally to come down with 
Dashington; and when he saw her pretty face looking out, and 
smi lin g and nodding to me, ‘Introduce me to your wife,’ he whis- 
pers; so I introduced him, and went back to the board-room to sign 
some papers I had forgotten, and left him talking to madame through 
the carriage-window. And, when I came back, 

“‘Just think, Albert!’ she said; ‘Sir George has promised to 
dine with us to-night, if we are quite alone, and will let him go to 
the House immediately after dinner.’ ” 

“And did Dashington go to the House immediately after dinner?” 
asked Lysper, with an air of assumed innocence. 

“ I don’t know, for I had to meet a man at the club early in the 
evening, and left him with my wife; but that little dinner was the 
beginning of our good-fortune. Dashington would dine with us 
two or three times a week; and there was nothing he would not do 
for madame, he took such a fancy to her— so much deep sympathy 
between them, and all that sort of thing, you know. But I was not 
going to have scandals set on foot when I knew there was no ground 
for them, so I insisted he must bring Lady Adela to call; and in or- 
der to make it still more proper Lady Adela and madame were 
always driving out together. Then we began to give little dinner- 


118 


ALTIORA VETO. 


parties, and Dashington asked our duchess here to invite us to her 
parties; and we worked the press and the photographers. First, 
there were mysterious paragraphs in the social weeklies about the 
new beauty — we always had some writers at dinner— and I got my 
life written: how I look at home, and all that sort of thing/’ 

“Yes, I remember,” said Basinghall; “that was the first time I 
ever heard of you. Well, what did you do next?” 

“ Why, we spared no expense to get professional musicians, and 
had only a select eight or ten for them to play to; and Dashington 
gave dinners especially arranged for us — poor aristocrats with pretty 
wives. I put the noblemen into good things, and they brought their 
pretty wives to dine with us out of gratitude ; and the men of fash- 
ion who happened to be in love with the pretty wives were only too 
glad to be asked.” 

“Yes, I remember,” drawled Lysper; “you asked me to meet the 
Clymer before Sark took her up, and that was the first time I ever 
heard of you.” 

“Well, that was how we extended the list of our acquaintances in 
the highest circles ; and what with notices in the papers, and photo- 
graphs in the shops, and financial plums for the poor aristocrats, and 
pretty women for the rich ones, we got to where we could give en- 
tertainments on a large scale and ask some social lions.” 

“And you invited me,” interrupted MacAlpine; “and that was 
the first time I ever heard of you.” 

“Well, we began to push our way then,” pursued Lauriola, not 
observing the impertinence of these interruptions. ‘ ‘ My little 
woman has got the hide of a rhinoceros and the sting of a wasp; 
bless you, she never takes offence, but she never forgets. She be- 
lieves in money, perseverance, good -looks, and audacity, as the 
forces that govern the world. I used to laugh at her, and call it 
impudence, but she said you might as well call the audace of the 
first Napoleon impudence. If people didn’t return her cards she 
would keep on leaving hers till they did, and then say that at last 
she had made them ashamed of themselves. ” 

“And she was right,” said Basinghall; “they should have been 
ashamed of themselves.” 

“ She had a way of regularly wringing invitations out of people, 
leaving them astonished at their own helplessness. ‘It is better,’ 
she would say, ‘to have the wiiole aristocracy abusing you than 
that they should be ignorant of your existence. ’ ” 

“ No, no,” said Lysper, encouraged by his obtuseness; “ there she 
was wrong: where ignorance was bliss, ’twas folly to be wise.” 

“One of her tricks,” pursued the unconscious Lauriola, “for 


ALT10RA PETO. 


119 


frightening an invitation out of a man’s wife, by pretending to make 
love to her husband, I never knew fail. Of course I knew it was 
only pretence, but neither the poor man nor his wife did. Then, 
when she had got the invitation, she would throw over the man, 
and lavish her affections on the wife, who was too glad to purchase 
her peace of mind so easily. Still,” added Lauriola, musingly, “it 
is not so hard to get people to invite you to go to their parties as to 
get them to come to yours; there’s where the talent lies. Madame 
was not one to be satisfied so long as there was a single member of 
the highest circles — the elite of the aristocracy, you know, the very 
creme — that held out. That proud Duchess of Flamborough was 
the last to give in, but she actually came to dinner. ” 

‘ ‘ What was your secret?” asked Basinghall ; “or was it madame’s . 
secret?” 

“Just so; that’s why I can’t tell it to you,” replied the parvenu, 
who seemed to feel a glimmer of consciousness that there must be a 
limit to his indiscretion; and he slowly closed one eye and swal- 
lowed the remaining contents of his tumbler with an air of pro- 
found cunning. “I must draw a line somewhere, and I draw it 
at — ” 

“ At your little woman — eh?” said Lysper, “ Well, I think it’s 
a pity other people didn’t draw it there too; but I warmly con- 
gratulate you, my dear fellow, on having such a treasure,” he added, 
hurriedly, afraid that he had gone too far, and giving Lauriola a 
friendly slap on the back, by way of a final nocturnal salute. 

“What an ineffable little cad it is!” said Basinghall, with a sigh 
of relief, as he watched Lauriola’s retiring and somewhat unsteady 
figure. “There must be a hidden charm in madame to make 
Dashington tolerate him as he does. Did you hear how Sark snub- 
bed him? By-the-way, what a mysterious young woman that un- 
discovered cousin of his seems to be! Why shouldn’t we go into 
the knight-errant line of business, Lysper — discover the retreat of 
this interesting and persecuted female, and go and protect her, or 
run away with her, as the case may be?” 

“If I could only find out where it was, I should be game. We 
have all of us tried to get it out of Sark, but one might as well try 
to draw a hedge-hog. I must say, MacAlpine, considering that you 
formed one of the party in Paris, you might have got it out either 
of the American girls or Bob Alderney before now.” 

“I have not made the attempt, ” said MacAlpine, primly, “as I 
have felt bound to respect what I understood to be Miss Peto’s own 
wishes in the matter; and I doubt whether your services would be 
particularly— er— acceptable to her in the capacity you suggest.” 


120 


ALTIORA PETO. 


“Bob Alderney tells me,” said Basingkall, “that Grandesella is a 
large edition of Lauriola — another of those financiers who want to 
use their wealth and their womankind as pulleys to hoist them into 
society; and, as far as I can understand, the daughter has run away 
because she refuses to be sold to the Clymer for the purpose. I 
was talking about her to Lady Adela to-day, who had no idea that 
she had such a cousin in existence till this affair happened, and she 
tells me she is going to consult Sark about it. By-the-way, I see 
you’ve given up Fanny Gazewell, and have been making tremen- 
dous running with the Californian heiress for the last day or two.” 

“The fair Fanny’s methods of attack are too aggressive,” Lysper 
simpered. “It is such a bore having to be constantly on your 
guard. It is all very well with married women, where no harm can 
come of it, and you can back out when you like, as it seems Sark 
has from the Clymer; but the way that girl and her aunt lay traps 
for the unwary is positively scandalous. Besides, I must marry 
money, if I marry at all.” 

“You have got rather a serious rival with the Californian in 
Sark,” said Mac Alpine. 

“ It seems to me you are not altogether disinterested in that quar- 
ter yourself,” retorted the other; “you seemed to be having a most 
confidential conversation in the library this morning.” 

“A little triolet Of my own composition that I was reading her. 
What conceptions of the pure she has for — er — a Californian!” 

“Then I’m afraid we have none of us much chance,” laughed 
Basinghall. “ However, it’s a cup I don’t mean to enter for, though 
there’s a style about the girl which, with her money, ought to give 
her the command of the matrimonial market next season; so, if you 
mean to do anything, Lysper, you have no time to lose. I wonder 
what made Bob Alderney go in for the friend, who has neither looks 
nor nuggets? My own impression is that there’s a plant somewhere, 
and that Miss Peto is at the bottom of it.” 

From all which it appeared that the general situation was one 
which exercised the imaginations of these smart gentlemen to an 
unusual degree; nor was it altogether without reason — for, in point 
of fact, both Sark and his sister were at that moment, unconsciously 
to each other, arranging in their own minds a meeting on the sub- 
ject, which took place on the following day. 

“Adela,” said Sark, as he walked her off to the conservatory, 
“you are one of the best and purest women I know, and the only- 
one to whom I can unburden myself freely about this new cousin 
of ours, who, curiously enough, has first revealed her existence to 
you by hiding away from the world ; and not about her alone, but 


ALTIORA FETO. 


121 


about two other women with whom my fate seems to have become 
linked in an incomprehensible manner. ” 

“You need not name them,” said Lady Adela, smiling. “I have 
not been nearly a week in the house with you and Miss Walton 
without knowing that she is one, nor have I lived in London for 
the last two years without knowing that Mrs. Clymer is the other.” 

“Exactly. You have had abundant opportunity of judging of 
them both, of estimating the value of their respective powers of 
fascination — possibly of understanding why, in the one case, the 
attraction which has held me for so long lias lost its charm, and 
why the other has seemed to me so irresistible. You have observed 
enough of them both to see how totally unlike they are to the or- 
dinary type, and may have perceived that I yielded, first in the one 
case and then in the other, to an influence which derived its strength 
in a large measure from the rarity of its nature. But you have 
never seen or known the third — perhaps the most remarkable and 
uncommon character of the three, and as totally unlike the other 
two as they are to each other; and yet, strange to say, the one whose 
influence, even more powerful than that of the other two, has nev- 
er affected me in the same way.” 

“You mean,” said his sister, “that you did not fall in love with 
her. Perhaps, considering there were two already, it was an embar- 
rasde richesses.” 

“If that was all, the difficulty might be more easily solved;” and 
Sark went on to describe his refusal by Stella, and the reasons he 
had for believing that his cousin would be sacrificed to gratify the 
social ambitions of her parents by a forced marriage, or a no less 
forced intimacy with the woman whom he had himself been the 
means of introducing to them; and, what still more complicated the 
situation, the hints which he had received that he had himself won 
her heart, and therefore had it in his power to save her from the 
fate which she was now hiding to avoid, at the same time that he 
secured her happiness for life. In fact, he had, since Stella’s rejec- 
tion of his suit, made up his mind that the easiest way to escape 
from the Clymer, to console himself for his disappointment, to 
secure the happiness of a woman he respected, and to put an end 
to what threatened to become a domestic scandal of a most dis- 
agreeable kind, was to propose to marry her himself — “a fate,” he 
added, “considering her great personal and mental attractions and 
nobility of character, any man might envy.” 

“Do you come,” asked Lady Adela, “to ask me for my advice, 
or to tell me your intentions?” 

“Like most people who ask advice,” he replied, “I come to see 


122 


ALTIORA PETO. 


whether your advice agrees with my intentions. It is fair to tell 
you my mind is pretty well made up on the matter.” 

“Then, from what you have told me of Miss Peto, I think you 
have made it up wisely,” said Lady Adela, who held Mrs. Clymer 
in such horror that she was delighted at Sark’s resolution. 

‘ ‘ I am glad, ” said her brother, * ‘ to hear you say so ; it does not 
remove my doubts, for they no longer exist, but it confirms my 
judgment. It is evident that every day is precious ; for I gather 
that the Grandesellas and Mrs. Clymer are on her scent, and her re- 
treat cannot much longer be concealed. ” 

“We go home on Saturday,” said Lady Adela; “and remember, 
should she need it, she always has a home with us. I am sure 
George will make no objection.” 

“Then I shall start by to-night’s train — called away by sudden 
business ; the only person to whom you may privately tell its nature 
is Miss Walton. She will be leaving herself the day after to-mor- 
row, but by that time the whole matter will be settled.” And, 
much to the astonishment of the rest of the party, Sark disappeared 
the same afternoon, while the ladies were out driving, without say- 
ing good-bye to them, having accounted for his absence to the duch- 
ess in a manner which easily satisfied that good-natured woman, 
but with which she by no means succeeded in so easily satisfying 
the more suspicious curiosity of her guests. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

LADY ADELA DASHINGTON. 

“ Can you make an effort to get up an hour earlier than usual 
to-morrow morning, and let us have a walk in the garden?” said 
Lady Adela, in an undertone, to Stella that evening, as they parted 
for the night. “There are several matters which I think it might 
be useful for us to discuss together.” Lady Adela had from the 
first taken a fancy to the heiress, and had learned with pain her 
brother’s disappointment. She not only wished to discover the 
girl’s real motive for refusing an offer which, from a worldly point 
of view, was so eligible, but for accepting the proposal of so unde- 
sirable a person as Murkle on conditions so little creditable to her- 
self. There was a mystery in the whole affair which she was de- 
termined to unravel, on Sark’s account ; for the episode seemed 
altogether inconsistent with the estimate her observation had led 
her to form of Miss Walton’s real character. 


ALTIORA PETO. 


123 


To Stella, Lady Adela’s conduct had often been no less enigmatical. 
She had wondered at her intimacy with Lord St. Olave, and at a 
certain lightness and flippancy of manner which was often con- 
tradicted by her depth and earnestness of sentiment on the few 
occasions when the opportunity was afforded of a little longer con- 
versation than usual in a house full of people; and she had no diffi- 
culty in divining the motive which had suggested the present meet- 
ing. Indeed, her curiosity was to some extent roused by her anxiety 
to discover the cause of Sark’s abrupt departure ; and, by a tacit 
understanding, they no sooner met than they plunged at once into 
the topic which was uppermost in both their minds. 

“Were you surprised at my brother’s sudden disappearance 
yesterday?” asked Lady Adela. 

“Not altogether. He doubtless told you what happened the day 
before.” 

“Yes; and that is just why I asked you to meet me alone; for 
his account of what transpired was so utterly .unlike what I ex- 
pected, and your reasons for refusing him were so different from 
any I could have conceived possible, that I thought he must have 
misunderstood you, and I wanted to hear the rights of the matter 
from your own lips. ” 

“First tell me, Lady Adela, whether Lord Sark has gone to see 
his cousin, and with what intention. You will see why it is neces- 
sary I should know this before entering upon any explanation when 
you have heard what that explanation is.” 

“Yes,” replied Lady Adela; “he has made up his mind, for rea- 
sons which you can perhaps understand, to ask Miss Peto to accept 
him as her husband.” 

For a moment the color left Stella’s face, and she made a desper- 
ate and successful effort to conceal all traces of emotion. 

“I am glad of it,” she said, calmly, after a moment’s pause; “they 
are worthy of each other. Believe me, Lady Adela, you will never 
regret the choice your brother has made, and he will live to be 
eternally grateful to me for refusing him. He will marry one who 
brings him not only the treasures of her heart, but, what is more 
priceless, a moral nature and intellectual gifts of the highest order.” 

“And now,” said Lady Adela, smiling, “the explanation you 
promised. You will think me very curious, but I want to know it, 
for your own sake. I can understand your refusing Sark, on the 
ground of not caring for him, but I cannot understand it on the 
grounds upon which you put it to him.” 

“You mean what he called my provisional contract with Mr. 
Murkle? My dear Lady Adela, it is so provisional that there is not 


124 


ALTIORA PETO. 


the slightest chance of anything ever coming of it. Mr. Murkle, 
knowing I was an heiress, asked me to be his wife, as a matter of 
business ; and I, knowing he was a contractor, replied to him, as a 
matter of business. No business contract is an impossibility in the 
abstract; it simply becomes an impossibility by virtue of the condi- 
tions imposed. I placed upon Mr. Murkle conditions which I knew 
to be perfectly impossible for him to comply with ; and on those 
conditions, which it is not necessary for me to specify, I agreed to 
perform my part of the contract. I also took care to give him a 
time limit, and in another month it will expire; but nothing would 
ever induce me to marry him. I only thought, as he evidently 
wanted to make use of me, that I would make use of him. As an 
heiress, you know, it might be often convenient to say that you were 
engaged, even when you had no intention of marrying the man you 
pretended to be engaged to. There is nothing so very wrong in 
that, is there? And,” she added, looking at Lady Adela, with a hu- 
morous twinkle in her eye, “ I am so young and inexperienced, you 
must make allowances for an untutored savage from the wilds of 
California.” 

“Oh, nonsense!” said Lady Adela, laughing. “I could wish 
some of the young savages in my own country were half as well 
tutored as you. But, as you never meant to marry Mr. Murkle, I 
am all the more puzzled to know why you refused Sark. He is a 
man that women have not found it difficult to love, and he was 
passionately devoted to you — all the more so, because he became 
aware of the vast difference which existed in his sentiments for you 
from that which he felt for the woman from whose bondage you 
have been the means of releasing him.” 

“That, indeed, will be matter of lasting consolation to me,” said 
Stella, with such unexpected earnestness that Lady Adela looked 
up; and she added, hastily, to cover her confusion, “because, you 
know, I am so fond of Altiora; and I shall ever be glad that I have 
been the means of securing her happiness. And that, indeed, was 
my reason for refusing your brother. I thought if I did, and told 
him how much Altiora loved him, his own generous nature would 
leave him no escape from the honorable alternative of proposing to 
her — and, you see, my wily tactics have succeeded. That’s what 
comes of passing one’s youth among Red Indians.” 

“And you did not care for him yourself?” asked Lady Adela, in 
rather a disappointed tone ; for she was proud of her brother, and 
felt a little piqued at this apparent lack of appreciation on the part 
of one whom she supposed had not had many opportunities of see- 
ing others like him. 


ALT10RA VETO. 


125 


“Oh, I think him most delightful — a man any woman might be 
proud of,” said Stella, warmly. “But I have peculiar ideas as to 
the sentiments one ought to entertain toward the man one marries, ” 
she added, evading the question. “Perhaps some day I will tell 
you about them. However, all’s well that ends well. From what 
I have seen of English marriages, they don’t seem to me very suc- 
cessful.” 

Lady Adela sighed. “Perhaps if we had what you call your 
peculiar ideas they would be happier,” she said. 

“Dear Lady Adela,” Stella went on, “we have known each oth- 
er so little, that perhaps my curiosity may seem impertinent, but 
indeed it is not ; and this conversation seems to have brought 
us so much nearer together that I feel emboldened by it. You 
asked me for an explanation, so that you should not do me an 
injustice ; I should like to ask you for one, for the same reason — 
may I?” 

“ Certainly. If I can I will give it, and I hope it will be as satis- 
factory as yours. ” 

“Then,” said Stella, frankly, “I want to know why you allow 
Lord St. Olave to pay you so much attention. Are you not afraid 
of misconstruction?” 

“Misconstruction of conduct which a husband approves does not 
hurt a wife socially. If I accept Lord St. Olave’s attentions, it is 
because they protect me from those of others, and because he un- 
derstands my motives, and is too honorable to take advantage of 
them. In a society where flirtation forms the principal accom- 
plishment of married life on the part of both partners it would 
be ridiculous for a poor weak woman like me to attempt to stem 
the current, or to set up a standard of my own. In cases where 
the husbands are especially addicted to this pursuit, their wives 
are all the less able to stand alone, partly because they lack the 
legitimate protection ; often because they are expected by their 
own husbands to make their houses attractive to the other sex 
by accepting their homage ; nearly always because men like to see 
their wives admired, and they themselves gain certain social advan- 
tages from their popularity. In addition to this, it allows them 
greater freedom to flirt themselves if they have wives who flirt ; 
and the wives of men who flirt are much more made up to by the 
men, because they are less afraid of the husbands, and fancy the 
wives need consolation. In addition to all these reasons why it is 
almost necessary for a young married woman to flirt nowadays 
the most powerful of all is, that it is the fashion. Therefore, my 
dear Stella— you don’t mind my calling you Stella?— you see that, 


126 


ALTIORA PETO. 


as we are all doing the same thing, there is no fear of misconstruc- 
tion, for there is nobody to misconstrue us. If everybody is in the 
same boat, nobody will tip it over.” 

“But,” said Stella, “surely there are exceptions to this general 
rule of flirtation?” 

“Of course there are exceptions, and very numerous exceptions. 
There are all the people who are happily married, and, therefore, 
don’t flirt; and there are the husbands who are too busy, and the 
wives who are too prim, or too stupid, or too ugly for anybody to 
want to flirt with them. But they are a scattered company, with- 
out cohesion, and don’t make society. They are powerless to affect 
its conduct. Society is a tolerably compact body, with its own stand- 
ard of propriety, or rather impropriety ; and it’s no use, whether you 
are in it or outside of it, to kick against the pricks. If you are good- 
looking, and your husband exposes you to it for his own purposes, 
flirt you must. There is scarcely a young man who would not feel 
he was wanting in the first duty in life if he saw you were neglected 
and did not instantly make love to you; and in fact the women 
would be very much surprised if they did not, and very often have 
to jog their memories and their manners, and commence operations. 
Now, as I live in the thick of this society, and as I don’t want to be 
eternally either on the aggressive or defensive, St. Olave — who has 
been a good deal tried by some of the beauties : he is so handsome, 
you know, but really has no taste for flirtation — and I have agreed 
that we will do just what is required in the mutual adoration line 
to satisfy society and protect ourselves, and it really succeeds admi- 
rably : we have got to be quite fond of each other.” 

“You don’t tell me!” exclaimed Stella, with such a comical ex- 
pression of assumed surprise that Lady Adela felt inclined to be 
offended ; seeing which, she hastily added, ‘ ‘ There, now, you are 
angry with me because of my Americanisms. I really must try to 
break myself of them. How kind of you, Lady Adela, to explain 
all this to me so clearly! I never should have understood it other- 
wise. I quite see now how, in my ignorance of the manners of the 
best society, I might have misjudged you. What a bad time the 
girls must have, with all the young married women going on like 
that! Don’t they do a little flirting too? I have managed a little 
already; but then, you know, I am a stranger.” 

“They do all they know, as my husband would say; but they 
have not much chance, as Lady Florence and Lady Edith Feather- 
poll and Fanny Gazewell will tell you. The men are afraid of get- 
ting caught, unless in the case of great heiresses like you ; but they 
are few and far between. ” 


ALTIORA PETO. 127 

“Then,” said Stella, demurely, “if my taste happens to run in 
that direction, I may be able to gratify it. ” 

“ Oh, you’ll be hunted to death! I should advise you to extend 
the term of your provisional contract with Murkle; you will con- 
stantly have to fall back upon it. And now let us go in to break- 
fast; but, first, I want you and your friend to come and pay us a 
visit at Copley Grange after you leave this.” 

“ Copley Grange! Is that anywhere near the village of Copley- 
dale?” said Stella, surprised. 

“ Only two miles from it. Why, what do you know of Copley- 
dale?” asked Lady Adela, equally astonished. 

“Simply — but this, Lady Adela, is in the most profound confi- 
dence — that it is the place where your brother is probably to be 
found at this moment.” 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

SOME PROPOSALS AT A PICNIC. 

Stella found Lady Adela’s prediction verified more speedily 
than she expected. A picnic had been arranged for the same after- 
noon at some ruins in the neighborhood ; and Lysper, who had sud- 
denly developed great archaeological proclivities, had asked the 
heiress to explore their more hidden recesses, when he thought a 
favorable moment had arrived for carrying out a design that had 
germinated in his bosom ever since Basinghall had the night before 
warned him that now was his chance, and that if he waited for the 
London season it would be gone. Moreover, he was much relieved 
by the absence of Sark ; and as the party at the Castle was to break 
up on the following day, he not only felt that he must act at once, 
but that a way of escape was prepared for him in case of refusal; 
for it is always embarrassing, even to a Guardsman, to continue to 
live in the same house with a girl who has refused you. Lysper 
had not been at Tel-el-Kebir, but his imagination had been much 
inflamed by the magnificent manner in which that strong position 
had been stormed. It is sudden and expected dash that does it, he 
reflected within himself. She may throw down her arms, like 
Arabi’s fellaheen, if I storm her unawares ; and he did it in this 
wise: “ This is a steep little pull, Miss Walton, but it is worth it— 
you get such a magnificent view of the ruin from the top. Won’t 
you take my arm?” 

Stella, who was quite as competent to scale a hill-side as he was, 
looked at him askance. She was in a defiant, reckless mood, for 


128 


ALT 10 R A PETO. 


she had been stifling her regrets all day, as also her envy of Altiora, 
and felt ready for any deed of daring which might kill care. With 
a sigh, which might have meant shortness of breath or a tenderer 
feeling, she slipped her arm in his, and he pressed it gently in pro- 
portion as the ascent became steeper, until, at the top, no doubt 
remained as to its character. “She does not seem to mind,” he 
thought, “and doing it by squeezing saves such a lot of words;” 
so, with still greater daring, he quietly grasped the slender hand 
on his arm with his other hand. Then, to his delight, he thought 
he felt a response, which sent a thrill through him. 

“ Confound it!” he said to himself, “how much more difficult it is 
to think what to say, when you mean business, than when you are 
merely spooning!” Universal experience testifies to the truth of 
this reflection, and it occurred to Lysper that if he blurted out her 
Christian name it would break the ice effectually. Now, we all 
know what an effort it is, and how unnatural it sounds, to say Mary 
or Jane for the first time to Miss Smith or Miss Thompson. With 
the daughters of earls and upward it is easier, for then you have 
only to drop the Lady; but the privilege of proposing to these dis- 
tinguished personages is confined to few. Lysper had overheard 
Stella called Mattie by her friend, in a moment of forgetfulness — for 
it will be remembered that the two girls had changed names — and, 
on the information so acquired, he boldly proceeded. 

“ Oh, Mattie!” he exclaimed, with a deep sigh, and an impressive 
squeeze of the imprisoned hand. 

“Yes,” said Stella, with an intensely sentimental gaze into his 
face, but not a little astonished at his calling her by her right name. 
“What — oh, what about Mattie!” 

“ I love her,” said Lysper, thinking she was timidly speaking of 
herself in the third person. And what a capital way she had hit 
upon to make him feel more at his ease! 

“Would she marry me if she knew that my heart was wholly 
hers?” 

“Oh,” replied Stella, turning her head to hide her laughter, as 
the ludicrousness of his mistake struck her, “how can I tell you 
without knowing more? Do you really love her very, very much?” 

‘ ‘ I can’t describe the nature of my feelings, ” said Lysper, again 
at a loss for words. 

“Try, dear Colonel Lysper,” said Stella, encouragingly. “I 
should so like to hear you say exactly how much you loved her! 
Can’t you analyze the sentiment?” 

“ Well,” said poor Lysper, “the thing is too deep for words, but 
I’ll try and put it into them. Just sit down on that stone for a 


ALTIORA PETO. 129 

minute. I will place myself at your feet. Now let me look into 
your eyes for inspiration.” 

Stella bent upon him those glowing orbs, charged with the most 
overpowering expression of tenderness they were capable of convey- 
ing, and said, softly, with a blush, 

“What am I to call you?” 

“Augustus,” said the enraptured Lysper, fast feeling that words 
were coming to him. 

“Go on, Augustus; I am listening.” 

“Well, I’ve loved a lot of women, but there is something about 
Mattie” — and he looked up with infinite meaning — “that beats 
them all. Her touch sets all my pulses throbbing ; the glance of 
her eye ” — and he caught hers — “ seems to go all through me with a 
sort of something between a quiver and a shiver that I can’t de- 
scribe. I feel as if I could kiss the very ground she treads on; in 
fact, hang me if I can stand it any longer.” 

“Nor I either,” said Stella, jumping up, as Lysper seemed about 
to proceed to more affectionate demonstration. ‘ ‘ See ! there she 
comes;” and Mattie, accompanied by Bob Alderney, suddenly turned 
a corner of the ruin. * ‘ Mattie, dear, Colonel Lysper has just been 
telling me that he has something he wishes particularly to say to 
you,” and she ran to meet her friend, and, carrying off the aston- 
ished Bob, whispered Mattie to go to the discomfited colonel. 

“What is it,” said Mattie, approaching him, “that you wished to 
say to me?” 

“Oh, nothing,” said Lysper, overwhelmed with confusion; “at 
least — yes, there is something, if you won’t think me very rude — 
may I ask you what your name is?” 

As Lysper seemed temporarily to have taken leave of his senses, 
Mattie thought it best to humor him, and replied, “Mattie Terrill — 
why do you ask?” 

‘ ‘ Oh, nothing, only I wanted to know; thank you so much. Pray 
tell your friend that it’s all a mistake ; thank you so much. Pray 
forgive me for having seemed so rude as to want to know your 
name. Shall we join the others?” said Lysper, anxious to lose him- 
self in a crowd and hide his diminished head anywhere. 

“Mattie,” said Stella to her friend the same evening, “your fort- 
une is becoming a burden greater than I can bear. What do you 
think happened to-day after I had handed that ludicrous creature, 
Lysper, over to you?” 

‘ ‘ I suppose somebody else proposed to you, as Sark was no longer 
there to frighten the men away. ” 

“ Exactly. I next fell a prey to Ronald MacAlpine, who, it seems, 

9 


130 


ALTIORA PETO. 


has been assured by Murkle that I am engaged to be married to him. 
As that is a piece of intelligence I wish no one to impart but my- 
self, I, of course, denied it flatly.” 

“ And what did he say?” 

“ Oh, he said I was his supremest conception, his transcendental- 
est vision, his perfectest dream, his preciousest ideal. I never heard 
such a lot of superlatives tacked on to words they don’t belong to.” 

“And what did you say?” 

“ What could I say? I was in a humor to say anything, I felt so 
mad — just after I had heard it all from Lysper too. It began to get 
monotonous ; so I said, just to shock his exquisitely refined sensi- 
bilities, ‘ All right, old chap; shove ahead.’ ” 

“Oh, Stella, you never said such a thing!” 

“I did, indeed. I was obliged to use the English vernacular; I 
was afraid he might not understand the more forcible language of 
my native State.” 

“And then what happened?” 

“Why, he flushed up, rather offended, and a good deal put out, 
and said, ‘Miss Walton, you are trifling with my most sacred affec- 
tions.’ 

“ ‘Not a bit,’ I said; ‘I never was more serious in my life; I have 
the greatest esteem and regard for your affections ; what do you 
want me to do with them?’ 

“ ‘ Return them,’ he replied. 

“ ‘Oh, certainly. I won’t keep them, if you w r ould rather I gave 
them back.’ 

“ ‘ Stella,’ he went on, ‘you know what I mean ; I ask yours in 
return for mine. My heart, my — er — hand, everything I have is at 
your disposition.’ 

‘“Mr. Mac Alpine,’ I replied, ‘I won’t affect to misunderstand 
you any longer; you want me in return to place my heart and hand 
and everything I have at yours. Now, as you are a man of honor, 
I will tell you, in the strictest confidence, what it all amounts to, and 
then you can tell me whether you continue to want it; but you 
must pledge me your word as a gentleman never to reveal what I 
am going to disclose to you to a living soul.’ 

“ ‘ I solemnly swear,’ he said. 

‘“Very well, then, I am not Stella Walton at all, but Mattie Terrill. 
My friend, who is the heiress, and I have changed places, and my 
total fortune amounts to seven hundred and fifty dollars a year, 
which in your currency is one hundred and fifty pounds. Now, 
don’t allow any false modesty to prevent you from frankly taking 
back your proposal, which was made under a misconception. I 


ALTIOBA FETO. 


131 


shall esteem you more highly, if you own up that you meant to 
marry me for my money, than if you pretended you didn’t ; and, to 
make it more easy for you, you may consider yourself refused, any- 
how.’ 

“ ‘ Oh, how magnanimously generous !’ he said, accepting the sit- 
uation without a murmur of apparent shame or regret. ‘ What a 
subject for a ballad! You may rest assured that your confidence 
will be most religiously observed. See yonder spray of fern how 
gracefully it droops over that white pebble,’ he went on, dexterously 
changing the subject; and until we joined the others he discoursed 
-to me on the value of ferns in art.” 

‘ ‘ That makes four proposals you have had in the first two months 
— Sark, Murkle, Lysper, and MacAlpine ; and during the season I 
suppose they will come much more quickly,” said Mattie. “I am 
so glad you will have an opportunity then of snubbing all these 
spoiled men. The sort of way the girls run after them and make 
up to them, instead of keeping them under their heels, where they 
properly belong, makes me trample upon Bob, just because I have to 
give a vent to my feelings on some young man, and he is the only 
one around who takes any notice of me. Do you see how that 
ridiculous Edith Featherpoll — the ugly one, you know — has been 
languishing after MacAlpine, with her flowers, and her sonnets, and 
her water-colors, and her fantastic style of dress, which she always 
goes to him to approve ; and what a dead set Lady Florence has 
made all the time we have been here at Lord St. Olave ; and how 
Fanny Gazewell enticed Colonel Lysper the other day to get up a 
tree after her — I suppose in order that she might make him propose 
among the branches? But what made me real mad was an attempt 
of Mrs. Haseleyne to get hold of Bob. She has got her own man — • 
what did she want mine for?” 

“That’s what Fanny Gazewell complains about,” said Stella. 
“ She told me that she no sooner thinks she has got hold of a man 
than some pretty young married woman comes along and snaps him 
up and carries him off — like a big dog taking a bone out of a little 
dog’s mouth. She says the reason she wants to marry some one is, 
because she is tired of being a little dog, and wants to have some of 
the fun of being a big one.” 

“ Pleasant for the husband,” said Mattie. 

“Oh, they don’t mind — at least, not in the best society. Lady 
Adela was telling me all about it.” 

“ Well,” returned Mattie, “Bob is in the best society, and he ain’t 
that kind, though I had to cut him for a whole day when I saw him 
staring back through his eye-glass at Mrs. Haseleyne. ‘ What are 


132 


ALT 10 HA PETO. 


you to do,’ he said, ‘when a pretty woman ogles you or squeezes 
your hand? It isn’t polite not to ogle or squeeze hers back again. 
And then she draws you on, and you can’t be a brute, even if you 
don’t like it ; but, ’ said Bob, frankly, ‘ I must say, it’s rather pleasant ; 
it is not the sort of thing that any man can actively dislike, you know. 
Besides, if he doesn’t respond, then she gets furious, and abuses him 
everywhere, and the men think him an absolute fool. He wouldn’t 
be asked anywhere, because he would not be considered of any use. 
Flirtation is the sauce of society,’ Bob went on, sententiously, when 
he was excusing his abominable conduct. ‘Just try, for instance, 
and fancy all the married women obliged to cover their faces with 
thick yashmaks , and imagination fails in the effort to depict the con- 
sequences. For nine young men and women out of ten the spice of 
life would be gone. ’ ‘ The flirtations of the unmarried ones, which 

are legitimate, would give it quite flavor enough,’ I said; ‘and if 
you want any more ’ — then all of a sudden my eyes filled with tears, 
and I jumped up from the bench where we were sitting under the 
trees — ‘you may go to your Haseleynes, and stay there;’ and I ran 
off, but Bob overtook me almost immediately, and we had a most 
delicious making-up. Stella, do you know, I don’t think I like this 
English society very much. I began to hate it from the first day, 
when Bob whispered that we must not call each other by our Chris- 
tian names in public, as it wouldn’t be understood — that it was the 
privilege which the married women reserved to themselves; and I 
am sure I overheard Mrs. Haseleyne call him Bob.” 

“Well, dear,” said Stella, “we won’t stay a day longer than you 
like ; but I think we ought to pay our visit to Copley Grange first. 
Did Lady Adela tell you of her invitation to us?” 

“ Yes,” said Mattie; “wasn’t it odd that Altiora should be staying 
so near? Bob told me he thought of the place from having once 
stayed at the Grange, and having been struck by the quiet seclusion 
of the village. How nice it is to think that we shall be back there 
to-morrow; and what an age it seems since we left, though it’s only 
a week! I wonder how Altiora, and Hannah, and Keith Hethering- 
ton have been amusing themselves?” And as the reader is probably 
by this time beginning to wonder the same thing, and nobody is able 
to describe the somewhat complicated workings of Altiora’s mind 
better than that young lady herself, she shall be allowed to do it in 
her own words. 


ALTIOIiA PETO. 


133 


CHAPTER XIX. 

KEITH HETHERINGTON’S SOLUTION OF THE PROBLEM. 

I wonder whether moral growth corresponds in any way to one’s 
natural conceptions of time ; or whether, while one’s physical frame 
may be slowly undergoing the changes incidental to the lapse of 
what we call years, our moral natures may not advance by bounds 
not to be defined by any periods of which our external faculties can 
take cognizance? I have only been here a week, but my mind, or 
whatever the part of me is that is not my external physical frame, 
seems to have undergone a complete revolution. Scientific men 
should have some name for that part of the body that they admit 
they know nothing about. “The Small Unknowable ” would do. 
They get as far as protoplasm, and then they stop abruptly; but 
when you want to talk about the thinking, and the perceiving, and 
the loving, and the suffering, and the willing part of you, they take 
refuge in vague terms like “mind,” and “imagination,” and “voli- 
tion,” and leave other vague terms, like “soul” and “spirit,” for 
the clergy to use with a sort of contempt, as if one set of terms con- 
veyed any more definite idea than the other. I was talking to Mr. 
Hetherington, who seems himself to be a person of a very great tol- 
eration for ecclesiastical or scientific bigotry, and he said the con- 
fusion arose from the old-fashioned ideas attaching to the words 
“ matter” and “spirit.” He said he had great sympathy with the 
indignation of the theologians when they were told that everything 
was matter, and there was no spirit. “Just think,” he said, “how 
angry the scientific men would be if you insisted that they were all 
living in a delusion, and there was no such thing as matter, and 
everything was spirit. And yet one statement is quite as true as the 
other — they are both right, and they are both wrong. They have 
got hold of two words which mean nothing, because they define 
nothing. The man of science has no right to say, when he exhausts 
the power of his microscope, that he has got to the end of matter. 
He brings an electric light to bear upon what he called a vacuum, 
because there was what he called ‘ nothing ’ in it; and, lo and behold! 
he finds something which can reflect rays of light — that each of 
those particles, so small as to exist in vacuo, does not seem to him 
as big as a mountain, is simply the result of the focus of his eye. 


134 


ALTIOBA PETO. 


What is there to prevent the empty spaces — in which every atom 
composing every molecule of the human organism is held in sus- 
pense — from being full of still minuter particles, measured by the 
standard of our senses, which would, therefore, correspond exactly 
to an invisible human frame, and which might continue to exist af- 
ter the appreciable particles had undergone the chemical change 
called ‘ decomposition?’ The body then existing, composed of those 
particles which hadn’t changed, becomes what the theologian calls 
spirit; but why he should shrink from this hypothesis for fear of 
becoming a materialist, as much as the scientific man does from it 
for fear of becoming a spiritist, passes my comprehension. Both 
must admit the existence of force; but the notion of that force ex- 
isting, irrespective of a transmitting medium, appears absurd. It 
would be as well, however, for the purpose of soothing susceptibili- 
ties, not to call that ‘ something, ’ through which it must act, either 
matter or spirit, but to find another name for it. You would then 
find a common ground upon which both classes might meet and 
experiment ; but it is evident that, inasmuch as these forces are 
positive dynamic agencies, the nature of whose action upon the 
human organism is conditioned upon various emotions, these ex- 
periments must partake of a moral character. Thus the emotion 
of fear would operate in one way upon these forces, and the particles 
which contain them the emotion of love in another, the emotion of 
anger in another, and so forth; and it is farther evident that the 
possible result of such experiments might be to indicate a method 
by which they might be modified, and their existing conditions 
might be changed for the better. An evolutionary period would 
thus be inaugurated in the inner man — that essential man who is 
formed of the particles not appreciable by scientific investigation 
with existing appliances, but which are held in suspense in the 
spaces in liis organism, which are scientifically appreciable — which 
might revolutionize his whole moral nature, and make him a far more 
fit inhabitant of the world than he is at present. This,” said Keith, 
“ is my idea of how the survival of the fittest is to be brought about; 
for who can say, when once we begin to evolve the real man, instead 
of tinkering away at his gross outer covering, as we do at present, 
that we may not effect a fundamental change in his vital conditions 
— for we shall be dealing directly with his vital forces — whereas we 
now cut him in half, and give the theologians what they call his soul 
to doctor, and to the doctors what they call his body to physic? It’s 
a wonder, poor fellow, considering how violently his organism is thus 
wrenched in twain, that he lives as. long as he sometimes does.” 

“But how would you set to work to make your experiments?” I 


ALTIORA PETO. 


135 


asked, “in this hypothetical region of the human organism which 
you assume to exist?” 

“All scientific experiments,” he replied, “are based upon hypo- 
thetical assumptions. The simplest mathematical problem depends 
upon the assumption of a straight line which does not exist. Every 
skipper, when he takes an observation and uses his table of loga- 
rithms, is working with materials which go beyond anything that 
the strongest imagination can realize. It is an old scientific axiom 
that nature abhors a vacuum — abhors it so much that, as we have 
seen, men of science so far have been unable to create one. In 
granting the hypothesis that the spaces which science has discovered 
in our organism are not vacua, we are not asking men of science to 
make an admission for which they would not be prepared. Their 
difficulty would be, as you suggest, how to experiment upon a 
region which escapes positive scientific analysis. For this purpose 
they would have to go a step farther, and assume not only that these 
spaces contained forces, but that those forces must be moral as well 
as physical. But in assuming this, for the sake of basing an experi- 
ment upon it, they would be merely following the recognized prac- 
tice. It has been on the foundation of unproved assumptions that 
some of the greatest scientific discoveries have been built.” 

“Granting, then,” I said, “for the sake of argument, that these 
spaces in the organism are the source from which emotional and 
will forces radiate, the problem still remains: how do you propose 
to experiment upon them?” 

“Obviously, when once it is granted that they may be moral 
forces, they must be experimented upon morally; but this is as 
foreign to the habits and methods of the man of science as of the 
theologian. Here the human victim, whom they have hitherto 
divided between them, falls to the ground. The theologian, who 
has a plan of salvation provided for him by his interpretation of 
his religion, quite other than the moral purification by a man’s own 
efforts, of the impure forces occupying the spaces in his organism, 
will shrink with horror from experimenting in such a direction; 
while the man of science, scarcely less scandalized at being asked 
to step out of the region of what he calls ‘ pure ’ science into the 
quagmire of impure moral force, will shudder at the thought of 
attempting an experiment in which his* microscope will be of no 
avail.” 

“ But I don’t see,” said I, “how, even if the theologian and the 
scientist, as Stella would call him, were not held back by their pre- 
judices, they could set about the experiments you talk of.” 

“The way to begin is, first, to select the special moral force 


136 


ALT 1 OR A PETO. 


which, for the sake of experiment, the investigator desires to de- 
velop into new conditions; he would naturally for this purpose take 
what he feels to be the purest and most refined in his nature. We 
will assume that he is a man of elevated moral temperament, and 
that he is conscious of what is commonly known as * an enthusiasm 
for humanity,’ and that he perceives intellectually that this love for 
the human race must transcend every other affection in its essential 
quality.” 

“I should have supposed,” said I, “that the love for the Deity 
was an equally high and pure emotion. ” 

‘ ‘ That would be the moral force probably selected by the theolo- 
gian, and rightly so selected. I had in my mind the scientist or phi- 
losopher who knows nothing about the Deity, and must, therefore, 
begin with the highest emotion of which he is capable— the love of 
his neighbor. It will be found that both classes of investigators 
will arrive at the same results. Indeed, it does not matter where 
you start from, provided you take what you believe to be the best 
moral force in you. Some investigators may not be truly conscious 
of a pure and genuine love, either for God or humanity, though 
most persons profess both. In that case they must take the next 
highest moral emotion they have, and work from that ; but these 
experiments involve such terrible ordeals, and imply such crushing 
sacrifices, that it requires a tolerably high motive to carry you 
through. We will assume that our investigator starts with the view 
to developing a new and hitherto undiscovered potency — his love 
for humanity. His first discovery is, that all the conditions by 
which he is surrounded, and all the other affectional instincts of his 
nature, interfere with his freedom of experiment. Then begin his 
ordeals and his sacrifices. For instance, the sentiment called patri- 
otism, being perhaps the highest to which some can attain, and 
therefore a good one for them to work from, is an obstacle to the 
experimenter on the love of humanity; he finds that he must dena- 
tionalize himself in feeling, if not in act. He feels that he belongs 
to no country but the universe. So he next becomes conscious that 
all family ties conflict with the due development of the force he is 
attempting to evolve. All the men and women in the world become 
his brothers and sisters. The love of wife, children, and so forth, 
though it is a moral force to be duly developed, under an entirely 
new set of conditions, is too much tainted with the grosser natural 
instincts to be allowed to co-exist in the same medium of transmis- 
sion with the love of humanity, which, in fact, it antagonizes, as em- 
bodying certain opposite or egotistical forces. It is the elimination 
of these egotistical forces from the organism which is so painful. 


ALT I OR A PETO. 


137 


Of course, it follows that if love of country and love of family are 
to be set aside, in order for the evolution into new and higher po- 
tencies of the love either of God or humanity, or both, all the minor 
egotistical emotions, such as love of rule, love of fame, love of 
money, love of ease — all forms, in fact, of ambition, all cupidities, 
every sensual gratification which interferes with an absolute con- 
centration of the will on the evolution of the force under experi- 
ment — must be discarded.” 

“But,” I interrupted, “ascetics have gone through processes with 
their affections in all ages such as you describe.” 

“Never in search of truth, or for an unmixed love of humanity. 
Of course, in experiments of this kind, the nature of the motive, 
which is the active agent with which the experiment is made, is 
everything. If a man starts not to find truth, but with a credulous 
assumption that he has found it, based on no such evidence as I sug- 
gest, and his object in isolating himself is to save what he calls his 
soul, instead of raising, by his efforts, existing humanity to a higher 
level, his efforts are vitiated at their source. He is not evolving 
into higher conditions ; besides, I said nothing about the man en- 
gaged in experimenting on the forces contained in his internal 
spaces becoming an ascetic. It is true that, at certain stages of his 
experiments, he must live apart, as he will become conscious of such 
powerful antagonistic invading forces from the organisms of his 
fellow-men that, until he has developed these in himself to a point 
where he can resist them effectually, he is likely to be brought into 
greater suffering, thus produced, than he can endure ; but this stage 
is only temporary — his work lies among his fellow-men, as he can 
only develop his love for humanity by living with it and for it. He 
will not remain long investigating and experimenting in solitude 
before he will arrive at certain striking and encouraging results, 
which, however, I cannot allude to now, as they are not susceptible 
of proof to those who have not experienced them. When, leaving 
his solitude, he comes out into the world for whose benefit he is 
struggling, he will enter upon a new and not less striking series of 
experiences, the nature of which will reveal to him no less startling 
secrets of his organism, and open up new and altogether unexpected 
possibilities; and he will then find himself able to dominate certain 
forces in his fellow-men, to attract some, to repel others, and more 
or less to sense the quality of all. He then becomes conscious of 
the differences which exist in the organic conditions of the persons 
who surround him, and more especially to perceive the character 
of the phenomena developed in those who are said, in popular 
jargon, to be ‘of nervous temperament.’ He begins to understand 


138 


ALTIORA PETO. 


the nature of the forces operating in them, by virtue of the discov- 
eries he has made in the nature of those in his own organism, and 
to induce others to enter upon the same experimental processes. 
He will find that in each case new phenomena are developed, con- 
ditioned on the varied character of the moral forces, which are in 
no two cases alike ; and as this occult region opens to his instructed 
vision, and man becomes a book, the hitherto dark pages of which 
he has thus learned to study, he perceives that it contains the 
solution of those world problems which have perplexed the ages, 
and which in these early days of evolution are being revealed to 
those who are prepared to dedicate their lives to the service of 
humanity.” 

“I guess,” said Hannah, who had entered unobserved during this 
speech, ‘ ‘ that there’s them as has been makin’ this experiment, as 
you call it, these many years, as ain’t either philosophers, nor scien- 
tists, nor theologians, and never heerd tell of the enthusiasm of hu- 
manity, much less of the spaces round the molly cools. Well, they 
had to make it — they was born so. Why, I allers was that sensitive 
to forces — I didn’t know what they were — as I could seem to feel 
what other people was feeling, ’specially some more than others. I 
had to study on it my own way to protect myself. Why, there’s 
times when I go into a sick-room, and the life seems to flow right 
clear out me. Many and many’s the time I’ve cured aches and 
pains by rubbing them all out of a body ; and anybody else but me 
rubbin’ would seem to rub ’em into the same body, and the same 
pain will come right into me, just as like as not. Why, I began to 
find I had a power in me for helpin’ people, both in their bodies and 
sperits, that was like a sacred gift; and all my life I have prayed 
that I might use that gift right, and never to serve myself. Well, 
the more I used it, the more it come; and if I do anything agin a 
feelin’ I have when it comes, and hold back out of a natural feelin’ 
when I feel a body is a-drawin’ the love out of me, it kinder curdles 
in me like milk gettin’ sour. If I want to keep in sound speritual 
health myself, I am bound to let it flow out, just as it has a mind 
to. It’s the Lord as knows his own; and them as he wants drawed 
he draws. That’s how I come to help you in your trouble, my 
dearie,” she said, turning to me, “and that’s how it is you come to 
take such a comfort out of me, and that’s how we come to feel so 
drawed together, him and me,” she added, pointing to Mr. Hether- 
ington. “Bless you, it’s because it ain’t ourselves we’re a-workin’ 
for. Only it comes to him from expermentin’, and it comes to me 
nat’ral-like, because I was born so; and you wouldn’t feel his words 
a-burnin’ into you like fire, and mine a-soothing of you like mother 


ALTIORA PETO. 


139 


love, if what he calls the spaces in your mollycools wasn’t already 
prepared. Bless you, it ain’t no good sayin’ a word to them as isn’t 
prepared ; but them as is, they’re hound to hoe in the same row. 
There’s no mistake, you’re just one of us, as your father was before 
you, only he died before he come through; hut it’s him as has been 
working in you. I could tell you things as I’ve heerd and seen as 
none of them philosophers’ patent double-glass magnifiers couldn’t 
show ’em ; and that’s so. It ain’t no good talking to me about 
imagination and hallucination, and expect me to believe they ain’t 
true. They seem to think, if only they can find a word that’s long 
enough and they don’t understand themselves, it’s an explanation. 
Poor critturs ! it’s the explanation of the explanation as puzzles ’em. 
It ain’t no more good a-scratching on the outside of natur than it is 
to scratch on the outside of the Bible, like the parsons do. It’s the 
inside as has got the life and the nourishment. Dogmas is to relig- 
ion what theory is to science. They tell me the Roman Catholics 
think, when they take the sacrament, they’re eatin’ flesh and drinkin’ 
blood; and that the philosophers say we’ve come out of oysters. 
Well, now, them things seem to me more like imagination than 
some things I could tell as I’ve felt and seen, and knows to be true 
by experience. Now, there ain’t no experience in their dogmas or 
their theories.” 

“But, Hannah, suppose they were to ask you, in your turn, to 
give an explanation of experience?” 

“Well, dearie, I should say what I think some American has said 
afore. Experience is the experience which experience has expe- 
rienced. They’ll know what it is if they make the trial, as Keithy 
here has proposed to ’em; but, laws! they won’t — don’t you believe 
it. It costs too much — givin’ up country, and wife and child, and 
houses and lands, and all the rest of it, to make an experiment for 
humanity without knowing but what it may fail in the end. Not 
if they know it, my dearie — leastways, not many of ’em. Here and 
there may be one, but they ain’t that kind of men. Generally 
speaking, them spaces in the mollycools has got to be prepared by 
a deal of suffering. It’s suffering as does it. Well, there’s a deal 
of suffering cornin’ to the world. Keithy knows all about it. It 
ain’t possible to go deep into these things without knowing about it. 
It’s when the ship goes to pieces, and the passengers is a-drownin’, 
that they look out for the plank of safety, not when she’s a-sailing 
in smooth water; and it’s a life-boat that them that studies the laws 
of life is now preparing.” 

“Hannah,” said I, moved by an uncontrollable impulse, and 
throwing my arms round her neck, “I am going to work at that 


140 


ALTIORA PETO. 


life-boat. I am going to give my own life to help to build it, cost 
what it may.” 

“Of course you are, my dearie. You didn’ter need to tell me 
that; I felt it from the first day I saw you, and so did he; that’s 
why we three was brought here. Things don’t come like this by 
chance. There’s them we don’t see as arranges meetin’s like these. 
You had to come where you could be protected from them oppo- 
site forces he was a-talking of, and our forces could combine freely 
with yours to strengthen you before you have to go back into the 
world.” 

But I scarcely seemed to hear what Hannah was saying — could 
not tell why I was sobbing so convulsively. It certainly was from 
a feeling of joy and relief rather than of sorrow; but the founda- 
tions of my moral nature seemed to have been stirred, barriers to 
have been broken down, chasms bridged, darkness illuminated ; a 
revolution of some sort had been effected, which took the form of 
tears, because the expression of all human emotion seems limited to 
tears or laughter, but the former may express any number of varia- 
tions of that emotion. In fact, I can best define those tears to the 
faculty by saying they were the exact opposite of “hysterical;” and 
as every doctor knows precisely what he means by that word, he 
must know what its exact opposite must be. I felt that the crisis of 
my life had arrived ; that the vague questionings of my girlhood 
were at last to be answered; that the yearning aspirations and un- 
satisfied longings which isolated me from sympathy with my sur- 
roundings were to be gratified ; that the burden of passionate pity 
for the misery of the crushed and suffering portion of my fellow- 
creatures, which had seemed more than I could bear, was to be 
lifted ; and that I could enter upon a life-long effort, sustained by 
the hope that I might yet do service in the world, and in that effort 
solve the problems which till now had vexed my soul. 


CHAPTER XX. 

THE BARONESS MAKES A DISCLOSURE. 

Robert Alderney was certainly inspired by some good genius 
when he discovered this wonderful retreat in which Hannah and I 
have so successfully buried ourselves. Our cottage is an ideal se- 
clusion, hidden in the recesses of a wooded glen, at the entrance to 
which, scarce half a mile distant, is the little village of Copleydale. 
It has been the home for many years of the poor widow of a retired 


ALTIORA VETO. 


141 


naval officer, who was too glad to let it to us, as it stood, by the 
week, while she paid a visit to a neighbor. I have been wandering 
amid the narrow, winding lanes for a week past, with no fear of 
discovery, either alone or with Hannah or Mr. Hetherington, who 
has taken up his abode in the village inn, and went out by myself 
alone this morning to stroll toward the village, in a more unsuspi- 
cious mood than usual, when, on turning a corner, I suddenly found 
myself face to face with Sark. The meeting was so unexpected 
that my heart began to beat violently, and a general vague presenti- 
ment of coming trouble seemed to take possession of me. I sup- 
pose he read my perturbation in my manner, as with an effort of 
cordiality I advanced to greet him, for he said, kindly, but with a 
certain embarrassment, “I am afraid, Altiora, that my unexpected 
appearance is not altogether an agreeable surprise. ” ‘ ‘ Indeed, I am 
very glad to see you, though of course I am surprised," I replied. 
Then Sark turned and walked by my side, as he gave me an ac- 
count of the commotion which had been produced in society by my 
disappearance, and of the paragraphs which had appeared in the 
newspapers, which had suddenly given me the notoriety I so ear- 
nestly sought to avoid, and of the legal proceedings for my recovery 
threatened by the baron, and finally urged upon me the necessity 
of preventing any public scandal, and of putting an end to a situa- 
tion which was calculated to produce it. He told me, to my great 
satisfaction, that he felt that he had completely emancipated him- 
self from the bondage of Mrs. Clymer, expressed his deep regret 
that he should have been the cause, in the first instance, by having 
introduced her to me, of having forced me into a false position, and, 
to my unbounded astonishment, concluded by hoping that I would 
allow him to make the only reparation in his power by accepting 
him in marriage. “This, dear Altiora,” he concluded, “is a simple 
solution of the whole difficulty. You will confer a lasting obliga- 
tion upon me ; you will escape the ordeal which you dread, of being 
forced upon London society, under auspices which are so painful 
to you ; you will be released from all fear of persecution from un- 
worthy or interested suitors, or being sacrificed to the ambition of 
your parents, who, I feel sure, will at once give their consent if I can 
only win yours.” He spoke with such delicacy, and at the same 
time with so much tenderness, that for the moment I was too much 
overcome by the unexpected proposition, and by the cogency of the 
reasons in favor of it, to make any answer. I hung down my head, 
much agitated by what I felt to be his generosity; for had he not 
confessed to me his strong attachment for Stella? And I think he 
mistook my silence for consent, for he took my hand, and began a 


142 


ALTIORA PETO. 


sentence with “ My darling,” which I felt hound to stop; for a new 
and indefinable impression suddenly seemed to overpower me that 
I no longer belonged absolutely to myself, and that no worldly con- 
siderations of expediency, or even of regard for Sark, should for an 
instant be allowed to invade the sanctity of those affections which 
I had solemnly dedicated only the day before to the highest of all 
services ; and yet it seemed impossible to explain this to him in any 
way which he could understand. Fortunately, the nature of his 
confidences to me in Paris furnished me with the escape from the 
dilemma I sought. 

“I feel all the more grateful for the generosity of your offer, Lord 
Sark,” I said, “because I do not forget that, in making it, you are 
sacrificing your own affections. ” 

“You give me too much credit,” he replied. “ I should, perhaps, 
have told you before what I concealed — believe me, from no un- 
worthy motive — that Miss Walton has no reason to fear that she 
will ever be annoyed by my admiration again.” 

There was a tone of pique not altogether unmingled with what 
appeared to me contempt, which surprised me, and I felt inclined to 
ask for an explanation, and enter upon my friend’s defence, when 
I remembered that I should see her in a day or two, and hear all I 
wanted from her own lips. So I said, “I cannot now explain to 
you, Sark, why it will be impossible for me ever to entertain the 
thought of such a relationship as you suggest.” He was just going 
to make some reply, when I heard the sound of wheels, and presently 
saw the lumbering one-horse fly, which was the only vehicle that 
the village could boast, and from the window of which, evidently 
scanning the surroundings, protruded the well-known head of my 
mother. She stopped to look as it overtook us, and, with well- 
assumed, affectionate gayety, laughingly exclaimed, ‘ ‘ Ah, naughty 
truant, have I found you?” and, making Sark open the door, I found 
myself in the maternal embrace. We walked up to the cottage to- 
gether, where Hannah, standing at the door, was overwhelmed at 
the sight of my companions. She received my mother with an 
aggressive sniff of condescension, and Sark with unaffected cordial- 
ity, and I took my mother to my bedroom to take off her things. 
She said she would stay there for the present, as she did not wish 
to lose time in explaining to me at once the view which she and the 
baron had determined to take of my conduct. 

“I will not recur now, Altiora,” she said, “to the impropriety of 
your conduct in leaving your home • nor am I even prepared to in- 
sist on your making full reparation to Mrs. Clymer, and accepting 
her intimacy as a friend, which would have been your proper pun- 


ALTIORA PETO. 


143 


ishment. Richard Murkle has most kindly offered to extricate us 
from the dilemma by again expressing his readiness to take you as 
his wife.” 

“But, mamma, I thought Mr. Murkle was in love with Stella 
Walton,” I said. 

“ I do not pretend to know what may have passed between him 
and Miss Walton, but he has authorized me to say that, as you have 
never fulfilled some promise you made him about some commission 
in regard to Miss Walton, with which he charged you, he now in- 
sists upon your reverting to your old relations. ” 

“ I am not aware of any old relations existing between us,” I re- 
plied, “ nor of his right to insist upon anything. At all events, as I 
have told you before, nothing shall ever induce me to marry him.” 

“ What was Sark saying to you when I arrived?” said my mother, 
abruptly changing the subject. 

“ He had just proposed to me, and I had just refused him.” 

“ You refused him!” she almost screamed. “Silly girl! now you 
have deprived yourself of your only chance of escape. Your fate 
is sealed, Altiora.” 

“ I don’t understand you, mamma.” 

“ God knows that I never intended that you should,” replied my 
mother, bitterly. ‘ ‘ The story of how Richard Murkle has got us 
all in his clutch is one which you alone have the power to wring 
from me, and it rests with you to decide whether you will now use 
that power, to the shame and disgrace of your family, or save me a 
confession which can do no good, and which you of all persons will 
have the most reason amply to regret.” 

I was at a loss how to reply to a speech so enigmatical and mys- 
terious. “Whatever your secret may be,” I said, “I never can re- 
gret its disclosure so much as I should the necessity of becoming 
Mr. Murkle’s wife.” 

“It is impossible for you to judge of that while you remain in 
ignorance of it ; the result of compelling me to make a full dis- 
closure of all the circumstances now known to Murkle alone will 
simply be to oblige you to marry him, with an additional pang 
which I would fain spare you.” 

I cannot help now feeling that it would have been better had I 
taken my mother’s advice, and allowed events to shape my fate, 
leaving the mystery unsolved; but the alternative of marrying a 
man who exercised this occult influence over my destiny, and used 
his power with such cruelty, was so revolting to me that I deter- 
mined to know the worst— the more especially as my imagination 
failed altogether in conjecture upon the subject — and my curiosity 


144 


ALTIORA PETO. 


had become excited and alarmed. So I said, “If I am to marry 
Richard Murkle, I would rather do so knowing the secret which has 
thus given him the command of my fate, however painful it may be, 
than allow him the satisfaction of feeling he still possesses a power 
which he would probably use to coerce me at some later period. ” 

“Then listen,” said my mother, with a glow of malignant satis- 
faction stealing over her countenance — as if she secretly rejoiced 
in the pain she was about to inflict. “ Listen, child, to a history of 
fraud and deception practised on an unsuspecting woman by the 
man whose memory you so dearly revere and cherish.” 

“ Stop!” I almost shrieked, so utterly unexpected was the quarter 
from which the blow was coming. “Do you mean my father?” 

“ Who else should I mean?” she replied, boldly. “Now, do you 
want me to go on and describe the story of a false marriage, of a 
betrayed woman, of a daughter who has no legal rights, of crime, of 
revenge, and of accomplices who, as husband and husband’s partner, 
have her and her daughter in their power? Do you want the details 
of this twenty-year-old history? Because time has not dimmed my 
memory — they are incidents in a woman’s life which she is not apt 
to forget, even if they are not those which she is apt to confide to 
a daughter. But then, you know,” my mother went on, with in- 
creased bitterness and sarcasm in her tone, “our relations have been 
very peculiar : we have never understood each other. As you are 
so much given to philosophical speculation, when you have all the 
particulars you will be able to construct a metaphysical theory as to 
the reason why.” 

I scarcely heard the last part of my mother’s speech. A numb- 
ness seemed creeping over me which threatened to paralyze all 
power of thought or feeling. I felt a vague consciousness that I 
was endeavoring by a mental and moral effort to realize that my 
father was a villain, but that my faculties gave way in the strain 
of this attempt to violate the most cherished instinct of my nature. 
They refused to be coerced into a belief so monstrous. Speech had 
become impossible; but I stared at my mother with a dumb incre- 
dulity which had a more powerful effect upon her than anything I 
could have said, for the color rushed to her face as I mechanically 
held my eyes firmly fixed on hers, and then ebbed away again, leav- 
ing her lips white and trembling. 

“Don’t stare at me like that, child!” she exclaimed, petulantly; 
“one would suppose you were going out of your mind.” 

At this moment the expression of her face changed to one of 
alarm, and she gazed so fixedly at the door behind me that I invol- 
untarily turned round, and, as I did so, heard a gentle tap. 


ALTIORA PETO. 


145 


“Who can that he?” she said; and she shivered with a spasm of 
emotion, which I was quite at a loss to account for, but I was con- 
scious, at the same time, of a rush of vitality into my own system, 
which seemed completely to restore me to myself. 

“May I come in, my dearie?” said a voice outside; and the door 
was gently pushed open, and old Hannah glided in, without waiting 
for farther permission. 

“ Seemed as though you was a- wanting me so bad I couldn’t stay 
away from you any longer. ‘ Lordy !’ I says, ‘my darling is in some 
kind of trouble; I feel her a-callin’ of me from her innards,’ I says, 
and I just come right away;” and Hannah brought a chair to my 
side, and took my hand, and tenderly stroked my head, exactly as 
if my mother was not in existence. Indeed, the baroness had re- 
ceived a shock of some kind which had apparently quelled, for the 
time, her proud spirit ; for she remained silent even when Hannah, 
putting her arm round my waist, whispered in my ear, “ You’ve got 
to come along with me, my dearie,” and led me from the room. 

‘ ‘ Now you lie down quiet on my bed for a little, ” she added. ‘ ‘ I’ve 
just got a word to say to your mama;” and she laid an emphasis of 
indescribable scorn on the last word, and, kissing my forehead, 
moved swiftly away. 

Curiously enough, my mind did not revert to its agony; I drop- 
ped off to sleep before I had time to recall the incidents of the scene 
which had just terminated. When I awoke I found Hannah sitting 
by my bedside. 

“There, now, my dearie,” she said, “ your mama and me has been 
fixing things. They ain’t near so bad as you think — only have a 
little patience, and it’ll come all right. What we want is time, and 
I’ve got it.” 

“Oh, Hannah!” I said, the memory of all my mother’s revelations 
now rushing over me like a flood, “what has my mother told you? 
Do you know the frightful position in which I am placed, and the 
circumstances that have led to it?” 

‘ ‘ Never you mind what I know, my dearie ; the time ain’t come 
for me to tell you that yet. Things is mighty onsartin’ in this 
world; ’taint what I hear that I believes in, it’s what I feels. The 
outwards is very little account — I goes by the innards. When onst 
the innards is got right — and it’s terrible hard to get ’em right so as 
they can be trusted— you ain’t got no call to try and work yourself 
out of a tight place by making calkilations in your head. It’s peo- 
ple that loves themselves goes by their heads, but people as loves 
their God and their neighbors better than themselves, they goes by 
their hearts. They just go it blind the way that love leads ’em. 

10 


146 


ALTIORA VETO. 


Maybe it looks like as though it was agin all reason and common- 
sense, and or’nary folks thinks them insane; but, laws! my dearie, 
that don’t matter. People as goes by reason and common-sense 
don’t know anything about the happiness that people have as goes 
by the love that drives them afore it. Now, you know what you 
was a-settlin’ the other day with Keithy and me, when he was ex- 
plaining to you about the molly cools. You just hang on to what 
you decided to do then, and leave your mama and that Murkle and 
the rest of ’em to the higher powers. And don’t you go to believ- 
in’ anything agin the memory of your sainted papa. You wait till 
things clears themselves. ” 

‘ ‘ But, Hannah, Mr. Murkle threatens the most fearful exposure if 
I do not give him an immediate answer.” 

“Let them threaten, my dear; it don’t cost much to threaten, but 
to carry out the threat may cost a great deal. He thought your 
mama had only to come here with that story to break you down. 
But don’t you break; just seem to bend a little, maybe, so as to 
gain time. Meanwhile I am a-goin’ to keep your mama here a 
few days.” 

“Keep mamma here!” I exclaimed. 

“ Well, I explained to her why I thought it would be best for her 
to wait till to-morrow, when Stella and Mattie come, and perhaps 
when they see her they’ll explain why it is best for her to go on 
stayin’,” said Hannah, with a sly twinkle in her eye. “ In the mean 
time,” she added, “your mama has promised that she will not allude 
to the subject again till they come. So don’t you think about it 
any more. You’ve got a work to do in this world, child, and you 
ain’t a-goin’ to be sacrificed to that Murkle, anyhow they can fix it. 
It’s old Hannah says so, and you’d better believe it. ” 

I was so inexpressibly consoled and comforted by this conversa- 
tion that it seemed as though I had risen from some horrid night- 
mare. Hannah had asked Sark and Keith Hetherington to stay to 
dinner, and assumed the character of mistress of the house with a 
quiet dignity and power which more and more impressed me with 
the remarkable qualities of her character. Her strong originality 
seemed to have an inspiring effect upon the gentlemen, who were 
both gifted with singular powers of conversation, which, I observed, 
was never suffered by Hannah to drop to my mother’s level. In- 
deed, I had never seen the baroness so cowed and subdued by sur- 
rounding influences as on the evening of the day when she had 
swept down upon my retreat, flushed with the premature conscious- 
ness of an easy victory. 


ALTIORA PETO. 


147 


CHAPTER XXI. 

. STELLA COMES TO THE KESCUE. 

On the day following the incident narrated by Altiora in the last 
chapter the party at Beaucourt broke up. Sir George and Lady 
Adela Dashington went to Copley Grange, where they found Sark, 
who had used his sister’s house for his base of operations when he 
made his descent upon Copleydale; and the two Californian girls 
and Bob Alderney returned to the secluded retreat, where Hannah 
and Altiora were anxiously awaiting their arrival. 

“ It ain’t no use,” said the old lady to the latter, in anticipation of 
this event, “ telling the gells any particulars; it’s enough for them to 
know that your mama wants to force you to marry that Murkle, and 
that she dustn’t resist him, on account of some secret hold as he has 
got over her, and threatens all manner of ruin and disgrace if he 
can’t get his way. That’s enough for Stella and Mattie. Trust ’em 
for seein’ a way out of it. Give me Stella for gettin’ a body out of 
a tight place when it comes to a pinch. I used to think New Eng- 
land gells pretty spry, but, my sakes ! Californy knocks the spots 
out of ’em.” 

The baroness had discreetly retired when the fly drove up with the 
two young ladies and their escort, and there was, therefore, nothing 
to check the spontaneous effusiveness of the embraces which they 
lavished upon Hannah and Altiora, much to the envy of Bob, who 
plaintively remarked, after Mattie had nearly squeezed the breath 
out of Miss Coffin, 

“Oh, Mattie, how I do wish I was Hannah!” 

“I don’t, you silly!” replied the young lady, in a whisper, which 
seemed quite to console him. ‘ ‘ There ! ask Altiora if she’ll allow 
you a cousin’s privilege — I don’t like to see you left out in the cold 
on this joyful occasion — and then go and amuse yourself with Keith 
Hetherington. We want to go and talk secrets, don’t we, Stella?” 

And they forthwith trooped to Hannah’s bedroom to exchange 
confidences. 

“Oh, Stella,” said Altiora, “ I have so much to tell you! Mam- 
ma is here.” 

“Here!” exclaimed both the girls at once — “not in this house?” 

“Yes; we kept her here on purpose till you arrived, because 


148 


ALTIORA PETO . 


Hannah said you would be sure to see a way out of the terrible 
dilemma in which I am placed.” 

“My dear,” said Stella, gravely, when she had heard Altiora’s 
story, “I have long known that some possibility existed of such a 
demand being made by Mr. Murkle, but I supposed that the escape 
from the difficulty had already presented itself. Has not Lord Sark 
been here?” she asked, coloring slightly. 

“Yes,” said Altiora; and her face seemed to reflect the hue of 
her friends. “ Oh, Stella! what have you done to offend him? He 
said that you need never fear again being troubled with his admira- 
tion.” 

“Didn’t he say anything else?” And Stella smiled slyly; but an 
almost imperceptible quiver of her lip betrayed the effort of self- 
control which she was exercising. 

“He asked me to marry him,” said Altiora, in an undertone. “I 
wouldn’t betray his confidence; but everything is so complicated, 
and I know how true you all are — we must talk openly. He once 
told me that he loved you, Stella— and I am sure he does still — and 
that you have refused him. Can you wonder at the answer that 
I gave him, even though he professed to care for you no longer? 
Besides, I have decided never to marry.” 

“ Wal,” interrupted Hannah, “it don’t quite amount to that; the 
fact is, me and Keithy and Altiora was a-talking over matters gen- 
erally, and we all decided we wouldn't marry just yet. ’Peared to 
us we’d got something more important to do first. Didn’t see our 
way clearly to adoptin’ the bonds of matrimony. That’s how it is. 
Don’t you press my darlin’ to think of her cousin agin’ her inner 
feelin’s. He ain’t no kind of a husband for her. It’s old Hannah 
as says it, and you’d better believe it. ” 

Stella looked quickly up at her old friend, and a conflict of emo- 
tions seemed struggling in the lovely countenance, which owed its 
principal charm to the variety of expression of which it was capable, 
and which, without losing its sweetness, changed in character like 
some fair landscape under the influence of the lights and shades 
of a tropical sunset. “But yet you love him, Altiora?” she asked, 
slowly. 

“As a cousin, yes ; but indeed I don’t want to marry him, or any 
one. Oh, Stella! all I want is to escape from being forced by the 
threats of some terrible revelation, which will disgrace my mother, 
from marrying Richard Murkle.” 

“What you want, in the first instance,” said Mattie, “it appears 
to me, is time — to enable us to find out what this secret is, and what 
it’s worth. From what I have seen of Mr. Murkle, he seems to mo 


ALTIORA VETO. 


149 


a gentleman capable of playing a game of brag for very large stakes. 
Now, as they say at poker, suppose we ‘go him one better’ before 
we ‘ see ’ him?” 

‘ ‘ That’s so, ” said Hannah, with a most approving chuckle. “You 
don’t waste your time in talkin’ honey, but what you do say goes 
straight to the mark. I expect Master Bobby has found that out. 
What we need is time — to find things out.” 

“If that’s all,” said Stella, with a sigh of intense relief, “I can 
insure you that. You three can gossip while I write a letter. I 
suppose we had better not lose a post.” 

“Now, silence,” said that young lady, coming back to the group 
after a few minutes, “and listen to this: 

“‘To Richard Murkle, Esq. : 

“ ‘Dear Sir, — In pursuance of the verbal agreement arrived at 
between us in Paris, on the 1st day of November last, by virtue of 
which we entered into a provisional contract mutually to bind our- 
selves to draw up schedules of our several assets, both of real and 
personal property, together with a full statement of our liabilities 
and indebtedness, with a view to an ultimate matrimonial alliance, 
I beg to state that I have prepared the above schedule and list of 
effects, which I shall be ready to submit to you as soon as the legal 
formalities shall have been completed; and I have to request that 
you will inform me, at your earliest convenience, whether you have 
complied with your obligations in this matter, and are prepared to 
carry out the terms of the understanding. 

“ ‘I may add that I have made inquiries of Miss Peto in regard 
to certain points affecting your private character, about which I was 
in doubt, and that her report is entirely satisfactory. I beg to re- 
main, Dear Sir, yours respectfully, Stella Walton.’ ” 

“ There,” said Stella, turning to Mattie, “how do you like having 
your name made use of in that way? If ever there was a forgery, 
that is one. I wonder what the penal consequences will be when 
I reveal to him that I am not Stella Walton at all, but the almost 
penniless Mattie Terrill?” 

“Not Stella Walton at all!” exclaimed Altiora, in amazement. 

‘ ‘ Oh, I forgot that, though you have been with us so long, you 
have never been let into the secret. Well, you must keep it, dear. 
‘ My face is my fortune, sir, she said ’—as whoever marries me will 
find out some day.” 

“I am quite bewildered,” said poor Altiora; “your letter is as 
utterly incomprehensible as this change in your personality is start- 


150 


ALTIORA PETO. 


ling. Do you mean to say that you once agreed to marry Mr. 
Murkle ?” 

“Just so; provisionally, you know. I had a sort of instinct it 
might turn out useful. One never can have too many strings to 
one’s bow, and now you see how fortunate it was. I suppose that, 
as he has never heard from me since, he is offended, and come to the 
conclusion that I was making a fool of him, and so has returned to 
his first love.” 

“But you don’t really mean to marry him?” said Altiora, who 
was too matter of fact to follow the pseudo-heiress in the reckless 
extravagances of her action. “ Supposing he is so much in love 
with you that he holds you to the bargain even if you are penniless, 
then what will you do?” 

“Oh, borrow from Mattie, and swell my liabilities to an alarming 
amount. His love will never be so limitless but what I can surpass 
it by my indebtedness, with such a bank as Mattie to draw upon. 
Don’t be alarmed, my dear; there is no danger of my ever becoming 
Mrs. Murkle, and I am quite determined that you never shall. ” 

“ I think that letter will do,” said Mattie. “ Stella, you’re a great 
soul ; you combine dash with judgment in a degree which should 
qualify you to become one of the great financial magnates of the 
age.” 

‘ ‘ I should require Murkle’s conscience. But let us consider him 
disposed of for the moment. What are we to do with the bar- 
oness ?” 

“I have been considering that point,” said Mattie. “We must 
take her with us to the Dashingtons. Lady Adela will understand 
that the best way to put an end to the family scandal is to have 
the mother and daughter as her guests; and the baroness will be so 
flattered that we can mould her conveniently to our purposes in 
that aristocratic atmosphere.” 

“Lady Adela is very anxious to make the acquaintance of her 
new-found cousin, after all we have told her of you, dear,” added 
Stella, “and is coming to pay you a visit to-morrow, when the 
whole matter can be satisfactorily arranged. Where are you going, 
Mattie?” 

“To have a little private conversation with Bob,” replied that 
young lady, with the utmost frankness. And this was what she 
said to Mr. Alderney when she found him strolling with Hethering- 
ton among the gooseberry-bushes of the primitive garden smoking 
a cigar, and had called him away from his companion. 

“Bob, dear, things are getting a good deal mixed. You must go 
off at once to Copley Grange and help to straighten them. Your 


ALT 10 R A PETO. 


151 


cousin Adela is coming over here to-morrow, at any rate, to invite 
Altiora to spend next week at the Grange. You must tell her that 
the baroness is here — that there are reasons, which we will explain, 
and which nearly concern Altiora’s happiness, why the baroness 
should be invited too. Fortunately, the baron has been suddenly 
called away to the Continent. And you must see Sark, who, I 
hope, you will still find there, and implore him not to leave till we 
come. Now, I know that he’ll say it is no fun staying to meet two 
girls, both of whom have refused him.” 

“No more it is,” said Bob. “I don’t see how I’m to get over 
that.” 

“ It is he who has to get over it; not you, stupid. Your turn will 
come when you’re refused. Don’t put ridiculous ideas of that sort 
into my head, or I may act upon them. ” 

“ Well, but if they did refuse him, how am I to persuade him to 
meet them again?” 

“ Oh, say that they didn’t— that he was mistaken — that girls never 
know their own minds ; in fact, invent any libel on the sex you like ; 
only persuade him to try again, or we shall be having hearts broken, 
and Mrs. Clymer triumphant, and Sark once more a slave to that 
woman. Just think, Bob, if you had a Mrs. Clymer somewhere, 
and, by some stupid mistake, I drove you off to her!” And the bare 
idea so moved poor Mattie that her eyes filled with tears, which 
gave Bob the best opportunity of consoling her that he had enjoyed 
for a long time ; and he started on his mission much refreshed in 
spirit, and determined to exert his diplomatic talents to the utmost 
in the cause of youth and beauty. 

Meantime Mattie thought the opportunity a good one to have a 
little private conversation with Hetherington, who had discreetly 
retired during the foregoing conversation, as she strongly suspected 
that he was neither an ignorant or totally disinterested observer of 
the events which had been transpiring. And she was anxious to 
ascertain the view he took of them, and the state of his feelings 
generally. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

MATTIE IN AN INQUIRING MOOD. 

“You have had two unexpected visitors here during the last day 
or two,” Mattie said, when she joined Hetherington, “and they 
seem to have thrown our poor Altiora into a sad state of perplexity.” 
“I have avoided speaking to her on the subject,” he replied; 


152 


ALTIORA PETO. 


‘ ‘ her own instinct of right is too powerful to let her go very far 
astray, however severe the pressure may be. She has made up her 
mind to take her own view of her duties in lifej irrespective of pub- 
lic opinion, and suffering is sure to come sooner or later to whomso- 
ever ventures on such a course. ” 

“Why, w T hat a gloomy view you take of life, Keith ! Do you 
mean to say that the attempt to do right is sure to bring suffering?” 

“ Not the attempt — the doing it; and that only depends upon the 
standard aimed at. The doing right according to the popular stand- 
ard, as a rule, so far from bringing suffering, brings popularity ; but 
the popular standard is a very low one, and framed to meet the de- 
mands of society. Just think what a mess people would get into if 
there were no standard of right at all! But it is as dangerous to 
pitch your standard too high as too low. He who practised the 
highest morality the world ever had presented to it was crucified 
between two men who practised the lowest; and his fate seemed to 
have served as a warning to those who call themselves by his name, 
if we may judge by the difference which exists between his preach- 
ing and their practice.” 

“But, Keith, I think your judgment is rather harsh; I am sure 
there are plenty of good people in society who sincerely try to fol- 
low the teaching of Christ, and who are all the more respected 
for it.” 

“ Oh, the world allows them to try, provided they don’t succeed; 
it feels rather consoled by their failures. If the best people try and 
fail, they say it is because the standard is too high to be practicable 
— evidently an ideal one, and impossible in literal fact ; so the ordi- 
nary mortal gives up the superhuman effort, and accepts things as 
they are with a conscience all the more at ease. And, in one sense, 
they are right. It is an impossible standard, except with a recon- 
structed society; and in order to reconstruct society you must rev- 
olutionize it. Hence, any attempt at radical reform necessarily 
brings you into collision with it. So long as the churches are con- 
tent to form part of a social system, based on a compromise be- 
tween the altruistic morality of Christ and the selfish morality of 
the world, the reformer must expect persecution from the quarter 
on which he should rely for support. ” 

‘ ‘ But, if it is hopeless, w T hy do you wish to enlist Altiora in so 
futile an enterprise?” 

“ I don’t say it is hopeless, except for the isolated individual. On 
the contrary, the religious inconsistencies of Christendom are press- 
ing themselves so forcibly on the more enlightened minds and 
quickened consciences of the present day, that we see ourselves in- 


ALT10RA PETO. 


153 


volved in a reaction against the popular theology, which, unfortu- 
nately, finds its expression in materialism, agnosticism, positivism, 
and other philosophical attempts at the solution of the social and 
moral problem — predestined to failure, so far as the heart-needs of 
humanity are concerned, but all evidencing a progress in the moral 
consciousness of that same humanity which demands satisfaction.” 

“Then you wish me to understand, Keith, that the demand of 
humanity for a higher moral standard of life — which Christianity, 
materialism, agnosticism, positivism, and all the other ‘ isms ’ fail to 
satisfy — may be met by some system of ethics which you propose to 
inaugurate?” 

“ Pardon me; I say that humanity demands a morality which is 
impossible without social reconstruction. I deny that the popular 
theology and true Christianity are synonymous, so far as their essen- 
tial morality in their application to daily life is concerned; and I 
maintain that, in order to substitute the Christian standard of mor- 
als for the popular one, you must reconstruct society. In the de- 
gree in which this conviction forces itself upon many minds will a 
combined attempt become possible : without a combined attempt, 
any practical result is hopeless.” 

“Well, then,” said Mattie, “it resolves itself into the one ques- 
tion, how do you mean to reconstruct society?” 

“That is exactly the question into which it does resolve itself, 
and which I am fully prepared to discuss with those who are will- 
ing to admit that enlightened selfishness is not the basis upon which 
society should be constituted, and who are ready to substitute for it 
that principle of unflinching altruism which is the foundation of 
pure Christianity.” 

“Then you would only co-operate with Christians?” 

“ On the contrary. Nearly all the best Christians I know do not 
call themselves by that name. I only use the term as applying to 
the ethical system of Christ — as the one theoretically the most famil- 
iar to the whole civilized world. I would co-operate with all who 
were prepared to live for the highest moral ideal, at any sacrifice of 
wealth, fame, ties of family, or of country, and who would form a 
social nucleus, where such an attempt would be possible.” 

‘ ‘ Irrespective of their belief in a God. Supposing, for instance, 
that an agnostic were to wish to join you, would you admit him?” 

“ Most certainly; for how could an agnostic know, till he tried a 
higher life than is possible to him in his present surroundings, what 
new faculties might not develop within him? The theologian who, 
embedded in a selfish social system, says, ‘ I know, with my limited 
faculties, that there is a God,’ may be as wrong in his appreciation 


154 


ALT 10 R. A PETO. 


of the nature of that Being as the agnostic who says, ‘ I know that 
you have no faculties, and never can have any faculties, for know- 
ing whether there be one. ’ The one believes in a Deity of his own 
imagining, and conditioned on his theological and social environ- 
ment, and the other believes in none at all. Who can say that, 
placed under totally new moral conditions, higher than any which 
have hitherto been attempted in actual realization, new and higher 
spiritual faculties might not be evoked, which should reveal to both 
a new and unsuspected Deity? The theologian has no more right to 
say that the faculties of man have attained to their fullest capacity 
for apprehending the Deity, than the scientist has to say that there 
is a physical limit to his observation of matter, and that he has 
reached it. Why these men who attribute our existing faculties to 
a process of evolution should be the first to limit that process to the 
past, and deny that we are capable of morally and materially con- 
tinuing to evolve, has always been a mystery to me. But the law 
of the evolution which they themselves evoke will be their salva- 
tion; and in the degree in which they prosecute their search after 
truth from the purest and the loftiest motives must they evolve 
toward their God.” 

“And so,” said Mattie, with a smile, “ Altiora has fairly entered 
upon the new evolutionary process?” 

“ She has unconsciously been struggling in the right direction 
from her childhood, like your own good old Hannah, Mattie ; and I 
think you must yourself admit that her intuitive faculties are devel- 
oped to a very remarkable degree.” 

“ So, then, the sum and substance of it all is, that society is to be 
reconstructed, on an altruistic basis, by persons undergoing an evo- 
lutionary process, through efforts of self-sacrifice, and that you, and 
Hannah, and Altiora are to inaugurate this great work?” 

“ Not quite so. I am happy to say there are some hundreds con- 
sciously preparing themselves for this work; but it is evident that 
the process is a slow one. The united effort must depend upon the 
progress made by each individual; and it is only when a sufficient 
number have passed through experiences and attained a sufficient 
development for the ultimation of new results, that the work can be 
said to have fairly commenced.” 

“What is the nature of these experiences, and of the results?” 
asked Mattie. 

“There you ask a question to which I am not at liberty to reply. 
I hope you will not think me rude, but I could no more describe to 
you the experiments or the results than I could discourse to a New 
Zealander on the laws of electricity, or attempt to make him under- 


ALTIORA PETO. 


155 


stand the nature of their action. If, when Watt saw the lid of the 
kettle tremble under the power of the compressed steam, he had 
predicted the mechanical and social revolution which would result 
from his new-found force, he would have talked to deaf ears, and 
been counted a lunatic. If we have begun to find that our organ- 
isms can be made to tremble beneath the action of forces far more 
pregnant with moral possibilites than steam and electricity have 
been with material results, it is not while we are learning the laws 
by which they are governed that we can discourse upon them to the 
ignorant and inquisitive. There’s an old Scotch proverb that ‘ Fules 
and bairns shouldna see half-dune wark.’ The world has been 
preached to long enough; it wants new moral phenomena, not new 
theological dogmas or philosophical speculations; but it is not while 
these phenomena are in process of development that we can under- 
take to explain them ; they must be tested, like all great discoveries, 
by their results. Meantime, we are contented to work on in silence 
and obscurity in our laboratory of moral experiment, craving only 
the one boon, which, of all others, the world is the least disposed to 
grant — that it will mind its own business, and leave us in peace to 
follow what we believe to be ours.” 

“Yes; but if, as you say, in order to carry out your moral experi- 
ments, you are compelled to place yourselves in an antagonistic atti- 
tude to society, you cannot be surprised if it considers that a cor- 
responding attitude of hostility is its business. Supposing a man 
knew that in the retirement of a chemical laboratory you were con- 
structing an explosive machine wfith which to blow up his house, 
he might find it difficult to believe that you were only actuated by 
motives of philanthropy, and very naturally wish to interfere with 
you.” 

“ Society in Jerusalem, no doubt, labored under the same misap- 
prehension when, moved by an instinct of self-preservation, it mur- 
dered Christ, nineteen hundred years ago,” retorted Hetherington. 
“It remains to be seen whether the same spiritual forces which 
were concentrated in a single individual, and which were so power- 
ful then as to produce a moral convulsion, are destined a second 
time to succumb to the social collision, when they are applied under 
new and more powerful conditions. Whatever view may be taken 
of the personality of Christ, it is impossible to deny that, as a moral 
phenomenon, he was unsurpassed in the religious history of the 
world; impossible also to deny, judging by analogy in nature, the 
probability of a recurrence of a similar manifestation of concen- 
trated spiritual power, though it may take a different and more 
commanding expression.” 


156 


ALTIOliA PETO. 


“Why, I do believe,” exclaimed Mattie, “that if I were to twist 
all you have said into orthodox language, I could make you out to 
be an ordinary Christian, expressing your belief in the Second 
Coming I” 

“ I would rather that you let any such attempt alone, Mattie. 
And now to come back to the subject of our communication. You 
see why I do not interfere with Altiora ; there are reasons why it is 
best for me, at all events, to let her work her way through her 
worldly dilemmas without my assistance. That is no reason, how- 
ever, why you and our good friends here should not give her all the 
aid and comfort in your power.” 

“Well, Lady Adela Dashington is coming over to invite her, and, 
I hope, the baroness, to the Grange to-morrow ; and I think, per- 
haps, Sark will come too.” 

“You need not expect Sark,” returned Keith, “for I met him at 
the station this morning as I was walking out here from the village. 
He told me he had received a telegram from the secretary of some 
company, requiring his presence in London immediately, on business 
of importance. You ladies have all been so busy with your private 
affairs that I have not had an opportunity of delivering the message 
of farewell with which he charged me. He told me to tell Altiora, 
however, that he would write his adieux.” 

“ Oh, Keith, don’t you see that it’s all a plot of that horrid Clymer 
to get him back again into her clutches, and that Mr. Murkle is her 
accomplice ? And yet you can stand there, with your hands in 
your pockets, and let things go their own way and get more com- 
plicated than ever;” and impulsive little Mattie wrung her hands in 
despair. 

“I don’t see what I could possibly do even by getting excited.” 

“ There is ever so much to be done; but you men are so unsatis- 
factory, and get so easily huffed, and twist everybody’s affections 
up into such a snarl, there is no unwinding them. Look straight 
into my eyes,” she added, after a perplexed pause, “and answer me 
truly. I would not ask such a question except under the pressure 
of necessity. Now, Keith Hetherington, I solemnly ask you, under 
the seal of the strictest confidence, are you in love with anybody?” 

“Loving and being in love mean the same thing, I suppose?” 

“Of course they are.” 

“ Well, then, I love humanity as a whole; and, of course, I am in 
love with all the several units that go to make it up. ” 

“That means that you can’t honestly say no, but don’t choose to 
say yes.” 

“It means that I am outside of the complications which perplex 


ALTIORA PETO. 


157 


you, Mattie; but I none the less sympathize in your desire to help 
your friends. Perhaps the best way I can prove it is by following 
Sark to town.” 

“Oh, I wish you would!” she . exclaimed. “He’ll certainly get 
into mischief, in his present frame of mind, unless somebody goes 
to look after him and try and bring him back. Keith, I would 
send Bob, only — hem! — he’s so useful here. But just come in first 
and deliver your message, and then say you are also obliged to run 
up to London for a day or two ; but you need not tell them why you 
are going.” 

“Dear me!” mused Mattie, as she followed Hetherington into the 
house, “I wonder why people can’t manage their love affairs as 
simply as Bob and I do? But I don’t suppose mine would have 
been so simple if I had remained the heiress.” 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

MORAL AND CHEMICAL EXPLOSIVES. 

Mattie was not far wrong in her divination of the origin of 
the telegram which Sark had received ; nor was Mrs. Clymer alto- 
gether such a novice in finance as Mr. Murkle took her for on the 
occasion when he first unfolded to her in Paris the process by which 
Sark and his co-directors were to be extricated from the equivocal 
position in which they had become involved, through sundry irreg- 
ularities in the management of the company, which it is not neces- 
sary to enter into here. She was, moreover, a woman to whom re- 
venge was sweeter than riches, and it therefore naturally occurred 
to her that it would be more soothing to her feelings materially to 
ruin, and morally to disgrace, the man she loved, even at the sacri- 
fice of her own pocket, than allow him to escape from her thraldom 
and bestow his affections upon a rival. It was sometimes said of 
Mrs. Clymer, by those who had the advantage of knowing that lady 
the most intimately, that, whatever her faults might be — in spite of 
her frivolity, her social audacity, her flirtations, and her cunning — she 
“had a heart;” that she was a woman capable of a grande passion ; 
and her reputation in this regard getting noised abroad, rendered 
her doubly attractive to men, who are, as a rule, almost as much re- 
pelled by feminine volcanoes in a perpetual state of active eruption 
as by volcanoes which are extinct, in which the fires, such as they 
were, are dead; but a slumbering volcano, concealing under a tran- 
quil surface untold potencies of suppressed explosion and flame, 


158 


ALTIORA PETO . 


which can only be evoked under a special influence, is an incentive 
which rarely fails to excite the vanity of the male sex, and often 
becomes a force all-powerful to hold them when once captured. 
Mrs. Clymer loved admiration too much not to flirt, but she was 
conscious that she possessed passions, the violence of which almost 
alarmed her, and which she was, therefore, at the greatest possible 
pains to conceal and control. No art can, however, prevent the 
subtle force — call it magnetism or what you will — from exercising its 
power of attraction ; and hence Mrs. Clymer was always surrounded 
by admirers instinctively sensitive to the dormant fire, which all 
their skill failed to kindle into flame. It was not until Sark had 
been drawn into the magic circle that the necessary fuel was sup- 
plied, and that the slumbering embers could no longer be quenched; 
and she became a prey to emotions, for the violence and conse- 
quences of which she held Sark responsible. She was mortified 
with herself for having, as she expressed it, “lost her heart” to 
Sark, and still more angry with him for having won it. The only 
consolation she derived for being no longer free herself to play 
havoc with the affections of others was, in the feeling that she had 
an absolute right over the freedom of her lover. He, at all events, 
must be made to pay the penalty of her weakness. She had never 
wanted to fall in love with him. She had merely intended that he 
should fall in love with her, and dangle in the chain of her adorers 
— in fact, be another trophy added to the collection already upon 
her chatelaine. So she had a grievance against her lover in that she 
loved him, and became morbid in her jealousy, and exacting in his 
allegiance. It was not, however, until a purer and higher sentiment 
than Mrs. Clymer was capable of inspiring had begun to steal into 
Sark’s breast that the yoke became intolerable to him; and just in 
proportion as he had worn it submissively was he now in a mood 
to resent its pressure. Mrs. Clymer, however, still brooding over the 
humiliation of having ever loved, followed by the mortification of 
having lost, devoted her energies to devising plans of revenge; for 
it is the peculiarity of an egoistic passion of this description, which 
those who feel it call “ love,” that it mingles with and finally merges 
altogether into hate. Having in its origin been an absolutely selfish 
instinct, and in its essence the exact opposite of what pure love 
should be, it requires but the necessary pressure to reveal its true 
character; and yet, curiously enough, Mrs. Clymer, all the while she 
was plotting his ruin, imagined that she loved Sark more than ever; 
and this led her to perceive that she would never regain his affec- 
tion by ruining him, unless she could conceal her handiwork; but 
to disgrace him, to render him desperate, and then to hold out 


ALTIORA VETO. 


159 


sheltering and consoling arms, and affectionately to rivet the yoke 
upon his neck again more tightly than before — this would be at once 
her revenge and her triumph. It was under the influence of these 
motives that she determined to defeat the combination to which 
Murkle had made her a party in Paris, and which was to save the 
board, of which Sark was chairman, from exposure. 

Mrs. Clymer bent on business was a very different-looking woman 
in her external appearance from Mrs. Clymer bent on pleasure, and 
a chance acquaintance might be excused for not recognizing at a 
glance the demure little woman, dressed in black, who was taking a 
ticket for the City by the underground railway, as the brilliant ap- 
parition which dazzled all beholders at the last fashionable garden 
party, and secured her costume a description in the journals which 
devote themselves to the chiffons of professional beauties. There 
happened to be a passenger, however, by the same train who had 
never beheld her on those occasions of social triumph, and who, 
seated alone in the carriage into which she stepped, apparently 
found no difficulty in her identification. 

“Why, Polly!” exclaimed this individual, “ can I believe my eyes? 
Now, this is what I call a rare piece of luck!” 

Mrs. Clymer started, flushed, threw up her veil, and exclaimed, 

“ Terence Dunleavy!” 

Then, recovering her self-possession, she held out her hand, and 
added, with a most engaging frankness, 

‘ ‘ Why, I had no idea you were on this side of the Atlantic. When 
did you arrive?” 

“ Only yesterday; and to think that the first person I meet should 
be you ! I take it as a good omen, Polly. Why, it is a matter of 
five years since I saw you last, and you are looking younger than 
ever. ” 

The speaker was a good-looking man of about five-and-forty, 
with his whiskers and mustaches shaved, leaving only what the 
Americans call a “goatee” of considerable dimensions. His eyes 
were blue, clear, and penetrating, his nose slightly hooked ; and, 
were it not for a somewhat sinister expression about the corners of 
his mouth, his general appearance would have been prepossessing. 
He wore a travelling suit and a wide-awake hat; and there was an 
air of self-confidence, almost amounting to recklessness, which was 
too aggressive to be the manner of a gentleman. It was rather the 
defiant attitude of a man who felt that what he might lack in social 
breeding he would make good by force of will, audacity, and 
mother- wit. 

“What a mark you’ve been making in the fashionable world, 


160 


ALT 10 R A PETO. 


Polly! I was talking to Ned about it not three months ago. He’s 
doin’ well, is Ned, I tell you.” 

“ Still at the old trade?” asked Mrs. Clymer. 

“ Well, it’s not a trade to leave, as things are going. His business 
is increasing every day, and is bound to increase. I am a sort of 
agent for him over here — and for others,” he added, significantly, 
after a pause. “Do you remember,” he went on, “how we used 
to talk over politics in old days, and what a little revolutionist you 
were? You and I used always to side together in those arguments 
we had against Ned. The worst of Ned is he lacks principle. He’d 
as soon sell a torpedo to an emperor as he would a djmamite clock 
to — you know who. If it wasn’t for Ned’s powers of invention we’d 
have nothing more to do with him. That was why we split the 
partnership. I said, ‘Ned,’ says I, ‘it goes against my conscience 
to invent all kinds of weapons to be used in regular warfare, maybe 
against the down-trodden classes of the world. The market is get- 
ting big enough to sell to the regular societies, and make a good 
thing, too.’ ‘ Terry,’ he said, ‘ I don’t hold by politics. I’m in the 
explosive business, generally, but it ain’t no concern of mine who 
gets blown up. I’ve got no particular sympathies. I look for the 
demand, and I try to meet it in the fair way of trade. ’ So we dis- 
solved partnership, and I went in with another chap, to work on 
some kind of a principle ; but Ned was all the time cutting under 
us by bringing out some new contrivance— he’s great on electricity, 
Ned is. So we — the S. F. , that is — agreed that he was to work for 
us, and I would be his agent for the societies. Then he’s got an- 
other agent that goes round to all the governments ; but he has a 
deal of trouble with them on account of their having all kinds of 
rules about what’s fair in war, which we haven’t got. He’s worked 
out a system of land torpedoes, to be fired by electricity, so that you 
can blow up whole regiments at a time, without any regular mining; 
but he says he don’t think he can get it accepted a bit more than his 
explosive bullets. Well, I don’t see the logic of it myself. Pro- 
vided your ball is as big as your head, you may burst it; but if it’s 
only as big as a marble, you mayn’t. Provided you want to blow 
up a ship, with five hundred men on board, you may; but if you 
want to blow up a regiment on shore, you mayn’t, except according 
to rule ; but it is all so much the better for us when we come to fight 
them. We go in for killing our enemies anyhow, not according to 
any particular rules. When once you admit that it’s a legitimate 
act of war to kill your enemy, I want to know where you are to look 
for the rules as to how you are to kill them? — not in the Bible, I 
guess.” 


ALTIOBA PETO. 


161 


“No, indeed,” asserted Mrs. Clymer; “it’s a dreadful alternative. 
But my sympathies are all with those who bring wars to the speed- 
iest conclusion by the most rapid slaughter, especially if it is to result 
in the relief of the oppressed.” 

“ That’s so,” said her companion. “Well, it’s a great business, 
this explosive material and infernal machine business — and only, 
you may say, in its infancy. There’s no saying what a future may 
not be before it; and Ned’s got the inside track of it — he’ll make 
his fortune, sure. I’ve got a packet of envelopes in that valise, as 
a sample ; every one of 'em’s bound to blow up the face of the man 
that opens them.” 

“Dear me!” said Mrs. Clymer, looking with no little alarm at the 
rack overhead; “and what else are you doing besides dealing in 
explosives?” 

“Just as inquisitive as ever— eh, Polly? But you were always 
true to your pals. You don’t suppose I can stand by and see what’s 
going on in my own country without lending a helping hand ? Why, 
I’ve been in the Fenian business pretty near fifteen years.” 

“ Well, but I thought your own country was America.” 

“ So it is, but my parents were born in Ireland. And what’s the 
use of bein’ an American citizen, and having American protection, 
except to do the work the Irish don’t care to do for themselves, and 
couldn’t do, if they did dare? Why, not only Ireland, but the whole 
of Europe, is like a great powder-magazine — and it’s boys like me 
that carry the sparks that are to blow it up; but we must have a 
place to fire from, and run to in time of danger. God bless the Stars 
and Stripes ! — they’re a great institution. ” 

“Well, Terence,” said Mrs. Clymer — for by this time they had 
reached their destination— “you must come and see me; here is my 
address ; and send me a line first, telling me when to expect you, so 
that I may be sure to be at home.” 

“And able to tell everybody else you’re out, eh?” Dunleavy added, 
with a laugh. “ Well, I am not proud. I don’t want to meet any 
of your grand acquaintances — at least, not that way. Good-bye. 
I’ll write and tell Ned that I’ve seen you.” 

“I think I shall have to write myself,” ruminated Mrs. Clymer, 
as she wended her way to the neighborhood of Austin Friars and 
Tokenhouse Yard. “I must certainly prevent Ned from coming 
over here without giving me warning. I wonder what his address 
is? I must find out from Terence. I wish Ned would blow himself 
up with his own materials,” she added, spitefully, as she scanned the 
names on the door-frames for that of the young stock-broker of 
whom Lysper has already made mention, and whose worship of her 

11 


162 


ALT lOIt A PETO. 


charms rendered him a fitting instrument for the service she was 
about to require of him. 

Young Casseroll, who was distantly connected' with the aristocracy, 
and enjoyed a certain social position at the West End, was trans- 
ported with delight when the bright apparition burst upon his dingy 
chamber, and being an intelligent young man, and well versed in 
the Joint-stock Companies Acts, he apprehended at a glance the 
position in which the directors of the Universal Scintillator Com- 
pany had placed themselves, and the nature of the transfer in proc- 
ess of completion, with the combination represented by Grandsella 
& Murkle, and perceived how easy it would be to excite such alarm 
and suspicion among discontented shareholders as should precipitate 
a crisis in the affairs of the company— an operation facile of accom- 
plishment, as there are always rebellious spirits to be found, anx- 
ious to acquire notoriety and become directors themselves, who are 
ready to start a movement of this sort, and by the circulation of 
pamphlets among the shareholders, and letters in the City articles of 
the newspapers, to head an opposition which becomes the terror and 
the torment of the unhappy board. 

‘ ‘ Dear Mr. Casseroll, ” said Mrs. Clymer, in her most winning 
tones, ‘ ‘ I am telling you all this in the strictest confidence. I would 
not for the world, as you will readily understand, do anything to in- 
jure Lord Sark, but you know how ignorant he is of business ; and 
when I found he had placed himself unreservedly in the hands of 
such able and, I suppose I may say between ourselves, such un- 
scrupulous financiers as Baron Grandesella and Mr. Murkle, I 
thought it time to take the advice of an experienced friend. I 
should so much rather that Lord Sark was ruined in purse than 
disgraced in reputation. Of course, as a woman, I know nothing of 
these matters, but I do think some steps should be taken to prevent 
these negotiations going any farther. ” 

“ So far as I understand the position of affairs,” observed Casse- 
roll, “the board, of which Lord Sark is chairman, is in this dilem- 
ma. The transaction which is in contemplation with the new com- 
pany, represented by Grandesella, is in itself a questionable one ; 
but if it turns out financially a success it will probably never be 
inquired into, and the board may ultimately not only escape from 
their present difficulty, but gain in reputation. If, unfortunately, 
it should not turn out a success, or if some inquisitive shareholder 
insists upon an inquiry— and I agree with you that Grandesella & 
Murkle are most unsafe men to act with, and do not enjoy the high- 
est possible reputation— then the results might be more disastrous 
than if the transfer had never taken place. On the other hand, if it 


ALTIORA VETO. 


163 


does not take place, the very next general meeting of tlie company 
may disclose a state of affairs which cannot fail to reflect the great- 
est discredit on all concerned, and may possibly lead to the liquida- 
tion of the company. It is too late now for Lord Sark to retire 
from the board. His only course is to carry through his negotia- 
tions to the end ; or if that — owing to* a rebellion among the share- 
holders — becomes impossible, by the sacrifice of his own private 
property, if he has any, to supply such funds as shall make a bal- 
ance-sheet that may satisfy the auditors.” 

“Oh,” said Mrs. Clymer, “surely that will be the honorable 
course. The thing of all others to save Lord Sark’s own reputa- 
tion is evidently, at all hazards, even by exciting the shareholders 
to a danger of their position, if necessary, to put a stop to his nego- 
tiations with Grandesella. ” 

“ Poor Sark has clearly not been to blame except in trusting the 
manager and secretary, and probably one of his own colleagues, 
who, from what I hear, has been the inspiring genius of the com- 
pany; but I doubt whether, if he was sold up to-morrow, he could 
meet the necessities of the case. However,” added Casseroll, play- 
ing with a paper-cutter, “I think we shall best serve the cause of 
financial morality by forcing things to a head, and I happen to 
know just the man among the shareholders who will lead the move- 
ment. I quite appreciate the motives by which you have been actu- 
ated, Mrs. Clymer ; and if you leave the matter in my hands, and 
say nothing about it, I will see what can be done.” 

Casseroll had been evolving a scheme of his own during this con- 
versation, by which he saw his way to tur.ning the troubles of the 
board, of which Lord Sark had been the victim, to his own profita- 
ble account, and shrewdly suspected that his fair visitor was not 
altogether so disinterested as she wished to appear ; in fact, he 
thought the occasion not unfavorable for urging his own suit, and 
the beauty was too anxious to propitiate him not to offer him some 
encouragement. 

“ Au revoir, dear Mr. Casseroll,” she said, after some tender pas- 
sages had occurred which are not important to our narrative, “ mind 
you come and see me soon, to report progress, as they say in the 
House of Commons.” 

The results of Mr. Casseroll’s energy made themselves apparent 
in a few days, and the enterprising manager became so alarmed at 
the turn affairs were taking, that he consulted the most active di- 
rector as to the necessity of summoning an extraordinary meeting 
of the board ; and an urgent telegram was sent to Lord Sark at 
Beaucourt, which only reached the Castle after he had left. Lady 


164 


ALTIORA PETO. 


Adela, however, being in the secret of his whereabouts, undertook 
to forward it to him, and he found it waiting for him at Copley 
Grange on his return from dinner on the evening of the eventful day 
w T hen he had placed his heart and coronet at the disposal of Altiora. 
As may be imagined, he regarded it as a welcome excuse for dis- 
appearing from a scene where his efforts had proved unavailing to 
make his cousin the only reparation in his power, and where a meet- 
ing with Stella in her company could only lead to embarrassment ; 
and he therefore wrote Altiora a note to say that he had suddenly 
been called to London on important business, and intrusted Hether- 
ington on the morning of his departure with a similar message. If, 
however, Mattie had known how resolutely Lord Sark, on his w T ay 
to town, was steeling himself against the machinations and the 
charms of the Clymer, she need not have undergone the paroxysm 
of alarm which she displayed when she heard the news. He had 
reacted, rather, let us say, from his weakness than from his passions, 
for his enslaver. He was able now to look back with wonder at his 
own infatuation; and he felt that the only thing he had to guard 
against was lest his compassion — for he gave her credit for a real 
sentiment of affection for him — should lead him to compromise, 
where firmness was his only safety. At all events, he saw no rea- 
son why he should let her know of his arrival in town ; and when 
he attended the meeting of the board, on the following day, he little 
suspected that the result of their deliberations was known to Mrs. 
Clymer a -few hours afterward; for the wily Casseroll had secured 
an accomplice to his schemes among the directors, and the opposi- 
tion was through his agency kept duly informed of the decision ar- 
rived at by the board, which Casseroll, only too glad to have a legit- 
imate excuse for calling at the bijou residence, where Mrs. Clymer re- 
ceived him in a most bewitching deshabille, and in a “dim, religious 
light,” duly reported to that lady. She had no sooner heard what he 
had to say, and impatiently listened to the expression of his eternal 
devotion, than she despatched by a commissionaire a note to Sark, 
couched in that language of peremptory complaint which the sex 
is so skilled in adopting under certain circumstances. 


ALTIORA PETO. 


165 


V CHAPTER XXIV. 

MB. MTJRKLE PAYS A VISIT. 

Mr. Murkle was sitting in his office, pondering. There was an 
open letter on his de^k, and an open penknife in his hand, and his 
attention seemed .divided between the former and his nails. Occa- 
sionally a particular nail apparently irritated his nerves, and he 
pared viciously. Then it suddenly ceased to interest him; his hand 
dropped languidly, Jthe lines in his face softened, his eyes turned 
from his fingers to the open page before him, from thence to the 
ceiling, and he si|hed: It was not often that sentiment invaded the 
business sanctuary of "Grandesella & Murkle, and even now the emo- 
tions which agitated the breast of the junior partner- were not alto- 
gether free from a commercial taint; but he felt, nevertheless, that 
his moral equilibrium was, so to speak, upset. The document before 
him could scarcely be called a love-letter, and yet it was not one 
which came within the ordinary routine of commercial transac- 
tions, excepting in the sense that it might fairly be considered an 
“esteemed favor.” Mr. Murkle felt that, while in practice it was 
perfectly legitimate to mix up affairs of the heart and the pocket — 
and that, in fact, social life would be impossible upon any other 
basis — yet that the crudeness with which Stella Walton had asso- 
ciated finance with love savored somewhat of indelicacy on the part 
of that young lady. In fact, at the moments when he cut his nails 
viciously he was a prey to the horrible suspicion that he was being 
“chaffed,” and that the beautiful American heiress was trifling with 
his affections, to see how much he would stand. But then his van- 
ity would come to the rescue. ‘ ‘ After all, ” thought Mr. Murkle, ‘ ‘ she 
is an American ; it may be the way that marriages are contracted in 
the wilds of Nevada; it certainly is not our way of doing things; but 
her immense fortune has probably suggested to her a line of her 
own. She may be in earnest;” and he recalled the tender glances, 
and I may even, without a breach of confidence, add gentle press- 
ures, with which the supposed heiress had favored him when she 
was in a particularly mischievous mood, and in especial that never- 
to-be-forgotten evening at MacAlpine’s, when, carried away by the 
violence of his emotion, he had given full vent to his pent-up feel- 
ings ; and at this point he cast his eyes upward and sighed. He had 


166 


ALT 10 11 A PETO. 


expected to hear from her since then; and when accounts reached 
h im through MacAlpine and his friend Lauriola of Sark’s attentions 
to her at Beaucourt, and rumors of an approaching alliance between 
the Californian girl and the English nobleman had actually gone the 
round of the society papers, he had reacted into a mood of indigna- 
tion, and had despatched the baroness on her mission to Copleydale, 
in the hope that it might bring matters to a head one way or the 
other. And so far he had apparently been successful. It was evi- 
dent from Stella’s letter that Altiora, to avoid the fate with which 
he threatened her, had satisfied all Stella’s doubts as to his domestic 
virtues, and that the latter young lady, true to her engagement, had 
now written to inform him, in her own peculiar phraseology, that 
she was prepared to fulfil her obligations. Still, Mr. Murkle had a 
morbid dread of being made a fool of, and every time he re-read 
Stella’s letter an uncomfortable sensation haunted him that, if he 
took it au serieux, he might find himself in that much-dreaded posi- 
tion; while if he did not he might not only lose the girl he loved, 
but her fortune to boot. It, of course, never entered his head that 
the heiress was playing with him, merely to save her friend from his 
designs ; and he was at a loss, therefore, to conceive why she should 
want to make a fool of him. But his perplexities redoubled when 
he set himself to answer this singular production. Should he be- 
gin it “Madam,” or “My beloved one?” and as between these two 
extremes there was a large choice, Mr. Murkle tried them all, and 
was satisfied with none. He could write either as the lover or the 
junior partner, but when it came to combining the two in equal pro- 
portions his ingenuity failed him. 

Now, it is not to be supposed that the little plot of Mrs. Clymer 
and Casseroll should have altogether escaped the cognizance of a 
person of Mr. Murkle’s extreme perspicacity and experience in City 
intrigues. No sooner had the agitation among the hitherto quies- 
cent shareholders of the Universal Scintillator Company com- 
menced than he suspected an exciting cause ; and this, by a patient 
process of induction and inquiry, he finally traced to Casseroll. 
He had the proceedings of that enterprising young stock -broker 
watched, and became thereby aware, not only of his visits to Mrs. 
Clymer, but of Sark’s arrival in town, and attendance at the board 
meeting. Being once upon the track, he farther discovered that the 
details of his negotiation with Sark had become known, which could 
only have been divulged by Mrs. Clymer, or by that nobleman him- 
self ; and as it was evidently the interest of the latter that they 
should remain secret, the treachery of Mrs. Clymer became appar- 
ent. And this confirmed him in his fear that matters might be so 


ALTIORA PETO. 


167 


serious between Stella and Sark as to have excited her jealousy, in 
which case the heiress’s letter to him became all the more inexplic- 
able. Under these circumstances he decided that, before taking 
any definite step, or troubling himself any farther about framing 
a reply to the letter he had received, he would take' the bull by the 
horns ; in other words, boldly go and call upon Sark, when he 
would have an opportunity of finding out, first, what the intentions 
of that nobleman might be with regard to completing the negotia- 
tions affecting the company of which he was chairman, and carry- 
ing out the engagement into which he had entered ; and, secondly, 
what position he occupied in the affections of Stella Walton. 
“For,” said Murkle, viciously, to himself, as he stepped into a han- 
som cab, “if he adds insult to injury, first, by marrying the heiress, 
and then by throwing over his engagement with me, I will have my 
revenge. ” 

Now, it so happened that at the very time when Mr. Murkle was 
engaged in the perplexed cogitations which I have been describing 
Lord Sark was very similarly employed in his comfortable library 
in Grosvenor Square. He also was painfully discussing in his own 
mind whether he should answer a little tinted note, with a resplen- 
dent monogram, in which the letters M. C. were inextricably and 
most illegibly intertwined in the shape of a heart, and which exhaled 
a subtle and delicate perfume which too forcibly reminded him of a 
moral atmosphere from which he had determined to escape forever. 
“Pah!” said Sark, as he rose impatiently from his chair and paced 
the room to and fro, “the horrid thing makes me feel quite sick. 
It’s very odd that an odor should have such an effect upon one’s 
nerves; and yet there -was a time that I decidedly liked it. That’s 
one of those problems Altiora is always trying to get to the bottom 
of. I wonder why no scientific man has ever written a treatise on 
the physical effects of a smell, as determined by association. I’ve 
made a fine mess of my affairs,” he went on, with a sudden transi- 
tion of idea. “The old proverb, ‘Malheureux au jeu heureux en 
amour,’ does not hold good in my case, for my speculations in 
finance have been as unlucky as my heart ventures. I am now 
engaged in the interesting experience of finding out which is the 
easiest — to appease a parcel of enraged shareholders or an infuriated 
woman. I wonder whether it will be best to write to her or to see 
her?” At this moment he was interrupted by the door opening, 
and the servant entering with Murkle’s card. 

“Show him in,” said his lordship, with an angry frown, flinging 
himself back into his chair, and covering Mrs. Clymer’s letter with 
a sheet of blotting-paper. 


168 


ALTIORA FETO . 


“ So sorry to disturb you,” said Murlde, in his most silvery voice. 
“I know how worried and busy you must be, for, of course, one 
cannot be in the thick of things in the City, as l am, without know- 
ing what is going on; but the fact is, Grandesella is over in Paris, 
trying to pacify the consortium there, who are getting most impa- 
tient about the conclusion of our arrangements, you know; and I 
have just received a telegram from the baron urging me to see you 
without delay, and get something definite. There are some docu- 
ments which still need signing, you remember.” 

“If,” replied Sark, “you are so well informed as to what is going 
on, you must be aware of the difficulties which have unexpectedly 
arisen, and which makes it very doubtful whether the proposed ar- 
rangements can be carried out. There has been some treachery at 
work,” he went on, with a keen glance at Murkle. “ In a few more 
days we should have secured a majority for any arrangement we 
liked to propose, but these premature disclosures have utterly upset 
my calculations. I have been racking my brains in vain to discover 
who the traitor could have been.” 

“ Ghercliez la femme,” said Murkle, with oracular irony. 

“What do you mean by that, sir?” returned Sark, sharply. 

“I mean that the traitoress is not far to find. I am in possession 
of proof that Mrs. Clymer has been the ‘Dea ex machina.’ ” 

Lord Sark kept his gaze sternly fixed on his visitor, but said 
nothing. 

“You’ll excuse me, Lord Sark, for speaking so freely,” Murkle 
went on, feeling rather uneasy under it, “but the circumstances are 
such as may justify my frankness. If there is any truth in the 
rumor which we have all heard of an approaching event, which 
may materially affect your lordship’s financial position, you may 
possibly be able to see your way to making arrangements which 
will be satisfactory to us all, and nip the conspiracy in the bud 
which has been set on foot by Mrs. Clymer and a stock-broker 
named Casseroll, by acquiring a controlling interest in the com- 
pany.” 

Murkle threw in this delicate allusion to the rumor — which was 
uppermost in his mind — first, as a hint to Lord Sark that it might 
have had something to do with Mrs. Clymer’s energetic interference 
in his affairs; and secondly, because it would force him to a declara- 
tion on the subject which should set his own mind at rest. 

“Iam not aware of any approaching event which can in any way 
affect my present financial position, except the Irish Land Bill, and 
you have my authority for contradicting all rumors of the kind to 
which you allude. Indeed, I should have imagined that you ^vere 


ALT I OH A PETO. 


169 


the last person to give credence to them, for no one has such good 
reason to know that they are unfounded.” 

This admission caused what Mr. Murkle called his heart to thump 
against his waistcoat. Could anything he clearer than that Lord 
Sark had tried his luck with the heiress and failed, and that she 
had told him of her previous engagement to himself? He was con- 
scious of an embarrassment very foreign to his ordinary sensations, 
and of a rush of blood to his ears. Murkle was incapable of blush- 
ing, or it would have gone into his cheeks. He was, moreover, un- 
able, in the confusion of the moment, to decide how much to admit 
or deny ; so he took refuge in his pocket-handkerchief and the 
weather, and remarked that he had caught a violent cold. 

“I am sorry to hear it,” said Sark, upon whom Murkle’s embar- 
rassment had not been lost, and who, with her ignoble-looking lover 
before him, felt more profoundly indignant with Stella than ever. 
* £ I hope you will excuse me if I terminate our interview. I am 
sorry that I do not see my way to giving you any message at present 
to send to Paris; and I must honestly tell you that I doubt very 
much whether our proposed arrangement can be carried out. I 
may now find it necessary, in order to save my own credit, to take 
measures which may involve me in pecuniary ruin, but not, I hope, 
with the loss of my reputation. Meanwhile, should another alterna- 
tive present itself by which I can avoid making this sacrifice, I will 
let you know.” 

There was a cool dignity about Sark which made it difficult for a 
man of Murkle’s calibre to venture either upon menace or familiar- 
ity; moreover, he was in too amiable a mood to be easily offended, 
and too anxious to be alone with his bliss and his love-letter, which 
he had already decided to answer at once, to wish to prolong his 
stay; so he graciously bowed himself out, and left his lordship to 
chew the bitter cud of his fancies, which his visit had certainly not 
helped to sweeten. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

MRS. CLYMER PLOTS REVENGE. 

Murkle’s visit to Sark had the effect of dispelling in the mind 
of the latter any doubt he might have felt as to the next course to 
be pursued with regard to the invitation contained in Mrs. Clymer’s 
note. Whatever feeling of compassion he had entertained toward 
that lady, or lingering fear of too roughly wounding her affections, 
had now vanished; and half an hour later he was ushered into the 


170 


ALT10RA PETO. 


well-known sanctum of the fair adventuress, and was threading his 
way, in the pink gloom, through the maze of low easy-chairs and 
tiny tables, loaded with objets de virtu, the gifts of numerous admir- 
ers, with which it was studded. Mrs. Clymer, who had denied her- 
self to all other visitors on the chance of his coming, had carefully 
prepared the effects of costume and surroundings which her long 
experience told her would be most taking, and was languidly reclin- 
ing on a lounge, a prey to sorrow and despair. She was too de- 
pressed even to rise and greet him, and could only murmur, as he 
seated himself by her side, while she extended her soft little white 
hand, glittering with jewels, “At last, dear friend!” 

Sark took the hand, but did not return its pressure, as he re- 
marked, coldly, “I came because you sent for me. Are you ill?” 

“At heart, very, and at head, too,” she replied, passing her hand 
wearily over her eyes. “No one knows what I have suffered these 
last weeks. Oh, Sark ! 'why did you desert me so cruelly in Paris? 
What have I ever done to offend you that you should break off a 
friendship which I prized more than my life? Since you so cun- 
ningly stole from me the heart I had sworn to hold safely in my 
own keeping, I have felt new and higher hopes and aspirations 
rising within me — our friendship was so elevating and purifying in 
its character; your influence over me was so wholesome; my whole 
inner life was changing under it so completely, that you have done 
me a moral wrong, by withdrawing the strong arm which was sup- 
porting me, which you can never repair. I feel like a rudderless 
ship, abandoned to the mercy of the winds and waves of this cruel, 
heartless world — oh, so desolate and forlorn!” and Mrs. Clymer 
pressed a piece of lace to her eyes w r hich did duty for a handker- 
chief, and had a mopping capacity for about two tears, and went 
off into an agony of sobs. 

Now, this is a sort of appeal that makes any man with a particle of 
sentiment feel like a brute, no matter how false he may suspect it to 
be, and his first instinct is invariably to offer some sort of consolation. 

Sark was conscious of an uncomfortable sensation of being rapidly 
disarmed, as he said, “Come, don’t cry, Marion; I want to talk to 
you like a sensible woman. You know how I hate tears.” 

It was just because she knew it that they seemed to flow more 
freely. “I can bear anything” — sob— “which will make you” — 
sob — “happy. When is the ” — sob — “marriage to take place?” 

“ What marriage?” 

“With that Cal” — sob — “ifornian girl.” 

“Iam not going to be married to her; and I do not see the re- 
motest probability of my ever being married to anybody. 1 ” 


ALT ion A. VETO. 


m 


There was a long pause, broken only by the gently subsiding sobs 
of the Clymer, as they recurred at rarer intervals and with less vio- 
lence — for she was preparing for her great coup, and required time. 
At last she said, softly, turning her large, brimming eyes on Sark, 
“And you never knew that I was a free woman?” 

If she had fired a bullet into him she could not have produced 
a more painful impression upon his organism. “Good heav- 
ens ! Marion, why did you never tell me this before?” he ejac- 
ulated. 

‘ ‘ I thought you knew it. I told you once Mr. Clymer had married 
again — which, of course, he could not have done had I remained his 
wife. What could I say more?” 

Sark vainly tried to remember the occasion on which this piece 
of information had been imparted to him, and felt that it rendered 
it still more important that he should define his own position for the 
future definitely. “It is strange,” he said, coldly, “that I should 
have forgotten the circumstance, and that you should have allowed 
the world to remain under a false impression on a subject so im- 
portant to yourself; but it is too late for me to alter my views in 
regard to my future now, however I might have been affected by 
what you tell me at a former period. I have quite made up my 
mind never to marry ; indeed, my financial position is such that I 
could not if I would ; and it is with reference to that I wished 
especially to speak to you. Why was it necessary to consult Cas- 
seroll about my affairs without my knowledge?” 

It was now Mrs. Clymer’s turn to receive a shock; and the ques- 
tion was so sudden and unexpected, and involved the possibility of 
so much acquaintance with her proceedings on the part of Sark, 
that her whole calculations were thrown out. She had hoped he 
would confide his many troubles to her, when she would have sym- 
pathized with him, instead of which he was evidently going to 
make her responsible for them. 

“Oh, Sark!” she said, “I hope I did not do wrong, but I heard 
such horrible rumors about the state of your company, and became 
so uneasy on your account, as you were absent, that I went to con- 
sult Mr. Casseroll on the subject, and he told me what an agitation 
had been produced among the shareholders by some things that 
have leaked out about your negotiations with Grandesella & Murkle 
in Paris. I am sure I can’t imagine how so much could have become 
known,” said the Clymer, innocently. 

Her explanation did not satisfy him, but Sark was too much of a 
gentleman to press the matter farther. His eyes were now thor- 
oughly opened to the character of the woman he had loved. And, 


172 


ALT ion A TETO. 


as we always seem to think that wasted affections are to he regret- 
ted, he rose, with a sigh, and gave her his hand in parting. 

“When am I to see you again?” she said. 

“I don’t know. I am very much occupied now.” 

“What are you going to do about your arrangement with Mur- 

kier 

Mrs. Clymer had risen from the couch and was standing up. She 
felt that she must change her tactics, and, to use the language of 
the period, was “pulling herself together.” 

“ I have decided to break off all farther negotiations for transfer- 
ring the company’s property.” 

‘ ‘ Then how do you intend to face your shareholders at the next 
meeting?” she asked. “ If I understood Mr. Casseroll rightly, there 
has been gross mismanagement and irregularity in its affairs. ” 

“I think by the sacrifice of all my Irish property — though Irish 
property is not very valuable just now — I may save the situation ; 
and I am prepared to ruin myself in the attempt, though I have in 
no way been a party to, or benefited by, the irregularities Mr. Casse- 
roll alludes to.” 

“And when you are a ruined man what do you intend to do? 
Penniless peers are not, as a rule, easily provided for. ” 

“ That depends on whether your party is in power. I think the 
present government would take compassion upon me.” 

“ Will you come and see me to-morrow?” she asked, with the 
pertinacity common to the sex under these circumstances. 

“No; I must go over to Ireland and see my agent about finding 
some one insane enough to pay for the privilege of becoming an 
Irish landlord.” 

“Would you mind my taking a trip to Ireland about the same 
time?” 

“If you took it with any hope of meeting me I am afraid you 
would be disappointed. ” 

“Am I to understand” — and Mrs. Clymer’s lips got very white — 
“that you no longer care for me?” 

“I shall always feel a friendly interest in you; but I have made 
up my mind to regain my complete independence. It is very pain- 
ful for me to have to say this, but it is better that you should know 
that my whole nature has undergone a revolution since we last met; 
and it would be folly to pretend a sentiment I do not feel.” 

At this moment Mrs. Clymer felt a strong inclination to throw 
herself on the ground at his feet. Had she for a moment thought 
an act of this kind, however humiliating to herself, would have been 
successful, she would not have shrunk from it. She now struggled 


ALT 10 It A PETO. 


173 


as fiercely against a violent outbreak of hysterical sobbing as she 
had striven to bring on an imitation of it at the commencement of 
the interview. She knew with unerring instinct that she had irre- 
coverably lost Sark, and lost him in the way most galling to a wom- 
an : because he had met some one who had stolen his affections from 
her. At that moment her hatred was pretty evenly divided between 
her lover and her rival ; and with it there surged in upon her an 
overwhelming desire for revenge. It was true he had said that 
there was no chance of his marrying, but she none the less felt that 
the temple of her affections had been burglariously entered and 
robbed of its treasure. It was at this moment that the servant en- 
tered with a note. She opened it and saw : 

‘ ‘ Dear Polly, — Expect me this evening at 9. 

‘ ‘ Y ours, Terence. ” 

A compromising epistle, she thought, with a bitter smile ; and she 
looked up at Sark, standing before her coldly, and, as she felt, heart- 
lessly, waiting to bid her a last adieu. She fancied she read in his 
glance — perhaps it was the effect of a morbid imagination — a con- 
cealed loathing, which stung her to madness. 

“ Go,” she said, and, sinking back on the couch, buried her face 
in the cushion ; then she heard the door close behind him, and gave 
way to the violence of her emotion. It was not till her passion had 
exhausted itself that she rose, and calmly went to her writing-desk. 
“Now,” she murmured, “for revenge.” Her note was only an ex- 
cuse for a dinner engagement for the same evening, on the plea of 
ill-health, for her anxiety had now become feverishly concentrated 
on the visit of Terence Dunleavy. True to time that champion of 
the down-trodden classes made his appearance ; and Mrs. Clymer, 
who had removed all traces of the storm through which she had 
passed, received him with affectionate cordiality. 

“My dear Terence,” she exclaimed, as she held out her hand, 
“how good of you to come so soon! I thought such a busy man 
as you would have forgotten all about me.” 

“Why, the fact is,” he replied, “I have to go to Ireland to-mor- 
row on a rather important affair, and I wanted to know first wheth- 
er you were inclined to do an old friend and a noble cause a good 
turn.” 

‘ ‘ I would do anything I could for both in reason, ” she replied. 

“Well, then, look here, Polly: it is not necessary for me to tell 
you exactly what I’m going over about, but it’s a matter of life and 
death. Now, I may want information which only some one placed 
like you— you understand, that knows all the ropes in society— could 


174 


ALTIORA VETO. 


give me. I shall let you know how to write to me, so that there is 
no chance of its ever being traced to you. You’re all safe enough, 
only I must be able to rely upon you acting true.” 

“I suppose you won’t tell me, now, what it is you are likely to 
want to know?” 

“No,” he said; “I would rather not, because I may never want 
to know it. If you would rather not promise, tell me now; only 
don’t betray me, if you do promise.” 

“ There’s no fear of that. Let me think a minute — it does not do 
to decide such things in a hurry. You will have a distinguished 
fellow-passenger to-night.” 

“Who’s that?” 

“ Lord Sark.” 

“ Lord Sark! Why, he’s got a large property in County Kintrary 
somewhere.” 

‘ ‘ I dare say he does not know where it is himself. I shouldn’t 
wonder if he’d never been there. ” 

“Taken pretty good care to draw his rent, though, I’ll be bound.” 

‘ ‘ Oh yes ; I believe he is going over to put the screw on now. 
He told me his agent had become so demoralized since he got a ball 
through the leg the other day that he is going over himself to col- 
lect his rents and enforce some evictions. I must say for Lord 
Sark, if he is a tyrant, he does not know what fear is.” 

“Is he a friend of yours, Polly?” 

“A friend of mine! I hate the man!” and at the moment she 
spoke the truth. “He has done me the greatest wrong a man can 
do a woman. He is a type of the class that keep the poor and the 
oppressed from getting their rights. Merciless by nature, he de- 
serves no mercy; and those who show it to him will rue it some day 
— that’s my opinion of Lord Sark. If you are going to make war 
against the aristocracy as countries make war against their enemies, 
and cut them off in detail, now’s your chance. ” 

“Why, Polly, what a little spitfire you have become! One would 
think you wanted the man murdered because you want to be 
revenged — that would make it assassination, you know, and we are 
opposed to assassination. When we have to remove individuals it 
is done as an act of war, and that renders it holy.” 

“Well, it is as an act of war I am talking of it. If you want to 
demoralize a class you must begin with the most prominent and 
popular members of it. You might shoot several small Irish noble- 
men without producing the same effect that you would if you shot 
the Earl of Sark. However, please yourself ; and in regard to a 
correspondent, I would advise you to look for some one else.” 


ALT ion A PETO. 


175 


“Come, now, Polly,” said Dunleavy — who saw that it needed 
very little to enable him to get Mrs. Clymer completely into his 
power, and that she would be all the more trustworthy as an ally 
if he did — “I see you are one of the right sort. I am not sure but 
what there’s a deal of sense in what you say. Let’s act together in 
this matter all through. I’ll give you a secret code, and enroll you 
as one of the sisterhood. It’s a grand cause, and, let me tell you, the 
women are mighty useful in it, and have a deal of power.” 

“Well,” said Mrs. Clymer, “I think we understand one another. 
Now perhaps you will answer the question I asked you first, and 
tell me what you are going over about.” But, as these are matters 
of too confidential a character to be divulged, I must leave the 
worthy pair to discuss the salvation of society by means of dynam- 
ite, and return to the party that we left at the cottage at Copleydale. 


CHAPTER XXYI. 

HANNAH’S TOILET. 

Copley Grange was one of those old English country houses 
which are the especial delight of our American cousins. It had a 
moat and the remains of an old drawbridge, with a venerable arch- 
way, and a groove in it, which, in ancient times, was fitted with a 
portcullis, and which was ornamented with the armorial bearings 
of the Dashington family, with the year 1460 carved beneath them. 
It had turrets and winding stone stairs, and walls four feet thick, 
and haunted chambers, and secret passages — in fact, every architect- 
ural device which the rude luxury of the period in which it was 
built could suggest or its wealth procure; and it had been added 
to recently in accordance with more modern requirements — for the 
Dashingtons had been one of the great county families from old 
time, and had ever been celebrated for their princely hospitality, 
the traditions of which had been cherished by each successive 
baronet, so that it had become the fashion to increase the size of 
the mansion just in proportion as the acreage of the property was 
diminished through a too lavish expenditure. When the present 
baronet came into the property he found it burdened, not only with 
a house and park very much too large for it, but with sundry mort- 
gages, which would have suggested to a prudent man that the time 
had come when the traditions of the family might advantageously 
be departed from, and its too generous hospitality curtailed. Sir 
George, who was at Oxford when his father died, no sooner sue- 


176 


ALTIOBA PETO. 


ceeded than he showed his readiness to depart from the traditions 
of the family, but not in the sense of limiting its hospitality. On 
the contrary, he was quite as extravagant as any of his ancestors, 
but he conceived that he possessed a talent for finance which had 
been denied to them, and he determined, therefore, to restore the 
fallen fortunes of his house by methods which they would probably 
have shrunk from. As the director of ten joint-stock companies, 
the aristocratic tool of Lauriola, and the cavalier servente of the 
wife of that great speculator, his reputation was not exactly one 
which his ancestor, the famous Sir Grey, who had been a Cavalier 
of quite another type, in the days of Cromwell, would have envied. 
Still he was not an unamiable man, or unkind to his wife, provided 
she flirted enough to keep up the character of the establishment. 
She might invite as many friends of her own to Copley Grange as 
she pleased, so long as they did not clash with his; and he was al- 
ways ready to make himself a charming and affable host. So when 
Lady Adela, on her return from the visit to the cottage, announced 
that she had asked the whole party there to spend a week at the 
Grange, he had offered no objection; on the contrary, he was rather 
pleased with the idea. He had taken a fancy to the two Americans. 
He was curious to see Altiora after the notoriety she had acquired; 
and Baron Grandesella was of so much importance in the financial 
world, that the baroness was a welcome visitor — it would put the 
baron under an obligation which might be made available some day; 
moreover, all the credit of thus putting an end to the scandal so 
nearly affecting his wife’s family would devolve upon him. 

“I shall telegraph for the Lauriolas,” he said. “I know they 
are not engaged elsewhere — they will just suit the Baroness Grande- 
sella; and you can send for St. Olave, you know, and one or two 
other young men.” 

“St. Olave has already promised to come,” she replied, slightly 
flushing; “and there will be Mr. Hetherington and Bob Alderney. 
I am so sorry Sark had to go away so suddenly! We want more 
men.” 

“Ask Basinghall.” 

“Iam afraid he would not care to come without Mrs. Haseleyne.” 

“Well, ask her too.” 

“Very well, George; but I’m nearly sure they are both engaged. 
I know they were discussing the merits of two or three invitations 
when we were at Beaucourt.” 

“Well, there’s Casseroll: he’ll do well with the Lauriolas and the 
baroness — he is a sharp young fellow ; and I hear she has quite a 
head for business. We might knock up some new combination. 


ALTIORA PETO. 


Ill 

Then, if you want another odd man, there’s always the curate. I 
think a very slight infusion of ecclesiasticism gives a delicate flavor 
to a mixed party. It’s like a suspicion of garlic in a salad. He will 
be too much swamped by the others to be offensive. By-the-way, 
there’s MacAlpine — only he is such an ass ; but he can supply a 
whiff of scepticism to correct the odor of sanctity if it becomes 
overpowering.” 

Meantime, the baroness, in a flutter of delight at so unexpected a 
development, had written, announcing the turn affairs had taken, to 
Murkle, urging the expediency of delay, in so far as Altiora was 
concerned, as it was evident that her social position would be so 
much improved by it, and refraining from any allusion to the deter- 
mination expressed by the young lady herself to resist, at all hazards, 
the proposed marriage. She had scarcely despatched her letter, 
when, to her surprise, she received one from that gentleman, saying 
that, on consideration, he had decided for the present not to urge 
his suit on Altiora, and that, so far as his immediate interests were 
concerned, the baroness might consider her mission terminated, but 
that he declined to give any assurances that he would not renew the 
subject. Murkle had, indeed, never clearly realized the somewhat 
anomalous position in which he had placed himself, so absorbed had 
he been by the receipt of Stella’s letter until he began to answer it. 
It then occurred to him that the baroness might at that moment 
(most inconveniently) have secured him the hand— he never hoped 
for the heart — of Altiora ; but as he knew that the latter would only 
be too glad to be released from the engagement, even if her consent 
had been obtained to it, he had no scruple in writing to the baron- 
ess in the above sense, prudently keeping, however, the sword of 
Damocles suspended, in case of necessity. His letter to Stella, 
which began, “Dearest Miss Walton,” contained an effusive expan- 
sion of his gratitude, with his promise that in a few days the nec- 
essary documents should be prepared, and the expression of the 
hope that he might be allowed to bring them down to Copleydale 
himself. 

“And the men say that we are vain,” said Stella, when she read 
the letter. ‘ * What but the most inordinate vanity could have in- 
duced him to gorge such a coarse bait? I shall be quite sorry when 
the farce terminates ; it’s such fun making a fool of a man who 
thinks himself so smart. Now, Hannah, I’ve pretty nigh fixed this 
lace on. I’m going to present you at Copley Grange as a harmony 
in slate. Now you will see that the dress I had such trouble to 
have made for you in Paris will come in most usefully.” 

“You just hold steady,” said Hannah, placing her hand on 

12 


178 


ALT IQ R A PETO. 


Stella’s shoulder. ‘ ‘ Afore I put them duds on I’ve got to learn the 
trick of my legs in ’em. There, now, supposin’ I want to turn round 
of a suddent, I’ve got to give a sort of a sweeping kick sideways to 
clear the train, as I understand— so.” 

“Not so violently, Hannah, or you would lose your balance; be- 
sides, you must show grace in your movements,” said Stella, laugh- 
ing. “More like this. But I ought to have a train on to show you; 
it looks ridiculous to be kicking at nothing, however gracefully you 
do it. Then there’s another thing, Hannah : you must be very care- 
ful about sitting down with dresses made like this ; don’t go and 
plump down suddenly and throw yourself back, without remember- 
ing to take hold of your train and throw it over your feet. ” 

“I know,” said Hannah. “I’ve often seen that Clymer do it, 
and wondered why she did not do it sooner — shameless hussy ; then 
she’d look for all the world like a cat with her tail twisted over her 
toes — same as you sometimes see ’em a-settin’. Well, there’s no 
need to tell me to be keerful in my movements when I’m carryin’ 
them fixin’s about. Why, I suppose that dress, now, cost a matter 
of a hundred dollars?” 

‘ ‘ Two hundred. Only don’t let Mattie know I told you. She 
would have got you one that cost twice as much, only she was afraid 
you would be angry, and wouldn’t wear it. She says there’s no 
dress that was ever made that is good enough for you; but then, 
you know, Mattie’s a little fool, and we, none of us, pay any atten- 
tion to what she says.” And Stella put her arms round the old 
lady’s neck, and made her pant for breath under the violence of her 
embrace. “Now, it’s all ready for you to try on — let us make haste 
— and then I’ll go and call Mattie and Altiora.” 

“ Don’t appear to me,” said Hannah, while she was undergoing 
the attiring process, “as them colors go well together — they’re too 
much alike, and ain’t no particular color at that.” 

“They are called teints degrades , and harmonize with your general 
style and complexion.” 

“ Well, I suppose it’s better to have ’em muddy -lookin’, so as not 
to show the dirt. My! now, if I ain’t real uncomfortable about the 
legs! Don’t seem to me as I could walk without bustin’ something 
or toppling over myself. What was that went crack?” 

“ Only a string. You mustn’t move about so energetically, Han- 
nah. Do stand still. Draw in your breath a little, so that I can 
make this meet— there. Now walk on slowly. Why, that’s per- 
fectly splendid ; you look something between a mediaeval saint and 
a dowager empress. I must complete the resemblance by putting a 
diamond star on your forehead on a black band over the parting, 


ALT 10 HA PETO. 


1-70 


where your hair is so thin; then the lace-cap covers all the rest. 
Now you’re finished,” and putting her head through the door into 
the next room, where the girls were impatiently waiting the sum- 
mons, she called, “Altiora! Mattie! the full-dress rehearsal is about 
to begin. Advance, Hannah, and shake hands with Altiora and 
Mattie as if they were Sir George and Lady Adela. Don’t step 
back so suddenly, or you’ll tumble over your tail. Always give a 
kick immediately after shaking hands as you retire.” 

“Shall I stick my elbow out so when I shake hands?” asked 
Hannah. 

“No; that’s going out. Now imagine that you are being intro- 
duced to the Duchess of Beaucourt. Don’t walk stiffly up and put 
your hand out and say, ‘ Duchess of Beaucourt, I’m pleased to know 
you, madam,’ but make a courtesy — so. Perhaps she won’t want to 
shake hands — these British aristocrats often think bowing quite 
enough — and you needn’t say anything.” 

“Guess I can’t make that courtesy,” said Hannah; “don’t see 
how on airth you do it sweepin’ down like that.” 

“ Well, a bow will be enough. I don’t know myself exactly how 
it’s done, as I never was taught in America. Now gracefully retire 
to the couch and sit down, and see that you handle your train prop- 
erly — smartly, now, as they say in the navy.” 

“The plaguy thing seems like as if it was caught somewhere,” 
murmured Hannah, with her head down, as, seated on the couch, 
she tugged at her skirts. Finally, extricating them from a foot- 
stool, she flung them triumphantly across her feet. 

“There; that was capital. You only want a little more prac- 
tice,” said Mattie, laughing heartily. “Now Altiora has got some 
news to tell you. ” 

“Mamma has just been to tell me that she has heard from Mr. 
Murkle, who writes to say that if the proposal she had to make on 
his behalf to me seems disagreeable, she is not to press it.” 

“Ah,” said Stella, laughing, “he is beginning to find out that it 
requires some dexterity to manage two strings to one bow, for fear 
of getting them entangled. ” 

“My sakes!” exclaimed Hannah, jumping up from her seat, hav- 
ing previously dexterously kicked aside her train. ‘ ‘ I guess I can 
sympathize with him — if there doesn’t go the second string to mine. 
What’s the use of it, anyway, stuck on in front like a soup-plate? 
I guess it don’t hold up anything.” 

“Why, Stella,” laughed Mattie, “Hannah is quite right; she has 
profited by her lessons from Mr. MacAlpine. Don’t you know that 
it’s against the first principles of aesthetics to add anything for the 


180 


ALTIORA PETO. 


sake of ornament to a work of art for which there is no constructive 
necessity?” 

“Well, but, Mattie, the bow is a work of art in itself.” 

“Ah, but the supremest art, according to our kilted prophet, con- 
sisted in making the whole person a single artistic conception, and 
not a conglomeration of separate artistic ideas.” 

“Yes. I suppose,” retorted Stella, “that was wdiy he wanted to 
pull his kilt up to his neck, and turn it into a Roman toga. Which 
would you rather be, Hannah — a single artistic conception, or a con- 
glomeration of separate artistic ideas?” 

‘ ‘ I suppose paint and false hair and patches, and all them things 
that Clymer wears, are separate artistic ideas, ” said Hannah. ‘ ‘ W ell, 
I guess I was a single artistic conception from the time I was born, 
and you can’t improve upon me much. Why, here’s Bobby cornin’ 
in at the gate ! What a start he did give me !” 

“I have just received a telegram from Hetherington,” said that 
gentleman on entering, “and he says that he has seen Sark safely 
olf for Ireland, and hopes to meet us all at the Grange to-morrow. 
Oh, Hannah, I beg your pardon.” 

“Tain’t your fault, Bobby. How the men’s ever to keep off my 
tail I’m sure I don’t know. It’s one o’ them gathers gone, Stella.” 

“You really must learn to be more careful, Hannah, how you ap- 
proach the opposite sex — trains were invented to teach that lesson, 
I suppose, but they don’t seem to have been much use. I wonder 
why Lord Sark has gone to Ireland?” 

“Perhaps for safety,” suggested Altiora, whose thoughts reverted 
to Mrs. Clymer. 

“He didn’t ought to have gone,” said Hannah. “Laws! that 
w r as why I gave that start when I seen Bobby. There’s no safety for 
him there. It’s old Hannah says so, and you’d better believe it. ” 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

HANNAII EXPOUNDS TO THE CURATE. 

“Mr. Chalfont, will you take Miss Coffin?” said Lady Adela 
Dashington to the curate of Copley, as she was marshalling the 
guests for dinner on the evening of their arrival at the Grange; and 
the clergyman, bowing gracefully, offered his arm to Hannah, who, 
sitting bolt upright on the edge of a chair, was severely scanning 
the assembled company very much with the air of a general on a 
field-day waiting for the troops to march past. Miss Coffin was too 


ALTIORA PETO. 


181 


utterly devoid of self-consciousness ever to be in the slightest degree 
shy, flurried, or embarrassed, but being of a philosophic and reflect- 
ive turn of mind, she was studying human nature, in the phase 
under which it was now being presented to her for the first time, 
with an earnest desire to enlighten her mind, and add to her stock 
of general information. 

“I didn’t rightly catch your name,” said Hannah, “but I suppose 
you’re the minister?” 

‘ £ My name is Chalfont — Sidney Chalfont ; and, as you rightly 
observe, I am in holy orders.” 

“ Holy orders is mighty difficult to obey; don’t you find ’em?” 
she remarked, rising and taking his arm. 

“The present state of the law in this country renders it impossi- 
ble, very often,” replied Mr. Chalfont, who had long made up his 
mind on the first convenient occasion to become an ecclesiastical 
martyr. 

“Do tell!” exclaimed Hannah. 

“I beg your pardon, Miss Coffin.” 

“ Oh, I ain’t no ways offended, but it does beat all.” 

“What beats all?” 

“Well, I don’t know as I understood you, but you seemed to say 
that you couldn’t keep the laws of God because of the laws of man 
— and you a minister, too; and I say that beats all— and, what’s more, 
I stick to it.” 

“Dear me,” thought the Reverend Sidney Chalfont, “this Ameri- 
can is a very plain-spoken woman. My dear madam, I don’t won- 
der that you are astonished. I am well aware that the Anglican 
priesthood of America are not subject to the same tyranny that we 
are in this country.” 

“Then why do you stand it?” 

“We don’t stand it — we go to prison for it.” 

“Seems to me, if they put you in prison for it, as it is them as 
won’t stand it. Did you know, before you became a minister, that 
you would either have to obey the laws of man, or else go to prison 
for not obeying ’em?” 

“That consideration was not sufficient to deter me from following 
a vocation to which I felt internally called, and from being a witness 
for the truth and a martyr for conscience’ sake.” 

“And you feel sure that them laws you won’t obey was made to 
uphold untruth, and you was made to uphold the truth?” 

“I can only act according to my conscience, and what I believe 
to be truth.” 

“And them as puts you in prison acts the same, maybe.” 


182 


ALTIORA PETO. 


“I give them credit for being sincere.” 

“Well, now,” pursued the old lady, “I’ve been in search of the 
highest truth since I was a gell — that’s a matter of a half a century ; 
always on the search. How old might you ha’ bin when you de- 
termined to obey the holy orders?” 

“About two-and-twenty,” said Chalfont. 

“And you was so sure then that you’d got the truth, that you de- 
cided to go where you could break the laws of a county as calls 
itself Christian, to testify to it?” 

“Well, I don’t think that’s altogether a fair way of putting it,” 
said Chalfont, laughing; “but the subject is a large one, and in- 
volves the whole question of the government of the Church by the 
Church instead of by the State. May I ask what was the result of 
your fifty years’ search after truth?” 

“ Well, I guess I’m on the track at last.” 

“ What, only on it now?” 

“ It’s difficult saying when I first got on; a body can’t jest always 
give dates in them things. I dessay I was on all the time ; but if I 
didn’t know it there was no peace. It’s only with the knowledge 
as peace comes. It’s not by readin’, nor by study, nor by spekilatin’ 
that you find Divine truth ; it’s by loving what is good, and a-doin’ 
of it.” 

“I should have said that Divine revelation and the teaching of 
the Church were the guides to truth,” said Chalfont. 

‘ ‘ If one set of people as is guided by ’em puts another set of peo- 
ple as is guided by ’em into prison because they can’t agree which 
way they pint, seems to me they’re mighty onsartin’ guides.” 

“It has been so from all time,” replied Chalfont, mournfully. 

‘ ‘ The history of Christendom is a history of religious strife ; till 
man is regenerate, it cannot be otherwise.” 

“ Well, then, it’s o’ no use for a man as isn’t regenerate darin’ to 
say he knows what Divine truth is; it’s a-puttin’ the cart before the 
horse, young man ; he hasn’t got the materials in him to find it out 
with. There’s no bishop nor yet a judge in the land as has a right 
to speak on such things — leastways till he has conquered his own 
evils, and that’s a mighty hard job. It’s the heart as finds out 
truth, and not the heM. When a man has given up houses, and 
lands, and wife, and children to serve his fellow-critturs, then he 
is beginning to get his heart into trainin’ for findin’ the truth. It’s 
only by lovin’ his kind more than himself, and sacrificing every- 
thing for ’em, that a man who starts not knowin’ whether there is a 
God at all, can find him out, and then he leads them into ail truth ; 
but if you begin as soon as you can toddle to be sartin’ that what 


ALT 10 R A PETO. 


183 


your mama told you must be true, I don’t wonder at your gettin’ 
put into prison for stickin’ to it afterward by tliercrwhose mamas 
told ’em different.” 

“But my present views were not obtained from my mamma,” 
said Chalfont, much amused. 

“Well, you set your muddled young brains against the muddled 
old brains of the others — both of you tryin’ to work out God’s truth 
as if it was a problem in mathematicks. Things as can’t be proved 
are things as must be felt, and things as are felt mostly can’t be 
proved. How can a truth as is based on pure love be proved ? 
When people feel the same love, never fear but they’ll feel the same 
truth. What I hold to is lovin’ what’s good.” 

“Then try some of those truffles, madam,” said Lauriola, who 
was sitting on the other side of her, as the servant handed her those 
dainties wrapped in a napkin, and who only caught the last sentence. 
“ I quite agree with you about loving what's good— take plenty of 
butter.” 

Hannah, who had never seen those unprepossessing looking tubers 
before, in her thirst for knowledge boldly imitated the example of 
her neighbors. “My sakes!” she said, turning again to Chalfont, 
and speaking with her mouth full — “it’s like trying to eat a chunk 
of tamarack-root, same as you see in swamps. If you call that nice, 
it’s a truth I can’t swaller;” and she elegantly suited the action to 
the word. “ It may be true to you because you love it; it ain’t true 
to me because I don’t. Who can prove who is right? I only hope 
it’s a truth as ’ll agree with you after you’ve swallered it.” 

“ But that goes to show,” replied Chalfont, “ that people differ in 
their ideas of what is good, and that the first step in the search for 
truth is the finding out what the good thing is that you are to love. ” 

“That’s so — now you’re gettin’ to the root of things. There is 
just two kinds of love. Some folks think the best and highest love 
is the love of themselves, and others that it is the love of their fellow- 
critturs ; and what seems true to the first set will always seem false 
to the others. People who really love their kind live for ’em, and 
it’s through givin’ up everything for ’em, and livin’ for ’em, that you 
find out things — not by studyin’ on old doctrines, maybe true, but 
that nobody can’t prove the truth of. Believin’, as they call it, in 
doctrines, don’t seem to do much good to people’s lives,” pursued 
Hannah, looking round the table. 

“I assure you,” said Casseroll, at this moment speaking across to 
Lauriola, of the company of which Sark was chairman, “that, in spite 
of the high character of some of the directors, there will be a terrible 
exposure— the thing will turn out to have been a complete swindle.” 


184 


ALT10RA PETO. 


“One of the members of the Board fills, if I am not mistaken,” 
said Mac Alpine, with a sneer, “a prominent position in the Society 
for the Protection of the Interests of the Church. You must surely 
know about him, Mr. Chalfont?” 

“I know that there are a great many people w r ho make use of 
religion as a cloak to cover their iniquity,” responded the curate, 
coldly, “just as there are many who use a smattering of science 
to conceal their ignorance, or indulge in philosophical platitudes 
in order to impose upon the ignorance of others. There are the 
Pharisees and hypocrites of scepticism as well as of religion.” 

“Mr. Mac Alpine,” said Hannah, breaking solemnly in upon the 
pause which followed this speech and looking round the table for a 
general assent, “that’s so, and you’d better believe it.” 

This produced a general laugh at MacAlpine’s expense. 

“That old woman is perfectly delicious,” Sir George Dashington 
remarked to Madame Lauriola. 

“The baroness there ought to be eternally grateful to her,” ob- 
served that lady. 

“ How so?” 

“ Why, it was she, I believe, who put up Altiora Peto to running 
away from her parents in Paris, thereby giving them a start in 
society which they would never have got in any other way. Wit- 
ness her presence under your roof now.” 

“Come, come, ma mie, you mustn’t be jealous; the baron and 
baroness have just as good a right to be in society as many others 
who are there — better, in fact, considering Altiora’s relationship to 
my wife; and I’ll turn the baron to account before I’ve done with 
him. There’s Lady Adela giving the signal for a move; take my 
advice, and make the baroness an ally and not a rival.” 

“Keithy,” said Hannah to Hetherington a day or two afterward, 
when they found themselves alone in the corner of the library, ‘ ‘ I’ve 
been talkin’ a good bit to that young minister, and ha’ got him on 
my mind. It’s amazin’ how I seem to know more what’s in a body 
by what he don’t say than what he does. He’s got a heart of gold, 
has that young man, if he could only be got on the right track. It’s 
the martyr-spirit as he’s got. He’s just a bustin’ with love for God and 
his fellow-critturs, and it runs into all kinds of fancies as he wants 
to be put in prison for — suthin’ about some kind of clothes he wants 
to wear when he’s a-preachin’, I disremember the name of ’em, and 
the courts won’t let him ; seems there’s a judge as says it’s agin the 
laws of God to wear ’em, also to mix wine with water, and light 
candles and sech things in Church. Well, says I, as the judge can’t 
know what the will of the Almighty is a bit more nor you can in 


ALTI011A PETO. 


185 


the matter, and it ain’t no account anyway, why don’t you give in? 
Says he, ‘ If I did, I should be a traitor to my God and my Church ; 
there’s a great principle a-lyin’ under it,’ says he, * and I should be 
false to the highest love of my soul if I didn’t hold to it.’ Jest the 
same as you sometimes see a young man in love with a gell, and he’ll 
try and break his neck over a precipice to get a flower for her which 
she don’t want, and which ain’t no good after he’s got it, jest because 
he seems driv’ to it by his love, and he don’t know no better. I tell 
you it makes my heart feel sad; it’s like a fine water-power all goin’ 
to waste in a new-settled country, with plenty of lumber all round, 
and people starving for shelter, and no mill on it as can do anything 
but turn chair-legs and sech-like.” 

“What surprises me is,” said Hetherington, “that people should 
not feel more universally the necessity of a fresh moral departure of 
some sort ; that the inadequacy of the theological systems of the day 
to cope with the evils of the age should not force itself more power- 
fully upon men’s minds; that with the increase of knowledge and 
civilization we should have a*n almost corresponding increase of 
armaments and of improvements in the methods of human destruc- 
tion; that crimes should be more rampant, moral abuses more re- 
fined; that all the great social problems should remain unsolved, 
and that the effort to solve them should be left to men of science and 
philosophers, while the churches remain passive, and apparently sat- 
isfied with the condition of things as they are ; that men like Chal- 
font should not perceive that their zeal and devotion are running in 
the same narrow channel as those of the best men for the last two 
thousand years, and leaving the moral problems as far from solution 
as ever.” 

“It ’pears to me,” rejoined Hannah, “that Christians have given 
up the idea of being Christlike — gave it up pretty soon, I guess — and 
with it gave up the whole social idea contained in the religion which 
applied it to daily life — turned it into a passport system for savin’ 
souls with dogmas, and ceremonies, and sech-like, about which peo- 
ple have been quarrelling ever since.” 

“It can only be through a combined effort on the part of those 
penetrated with the absolute need of a new departure being at- 
tempted, which shall grapple with the moral problems of our pres- 
ent life, rather than with the hypothetical considerations involved in 
a future one, that a new force can be evolved which shall be suffi- 
ciently powerful to display itself in what may be termed new nat- 
ural moral phenomena. The elements are pregnant with them, and 
their manifestation cannot much longer be delayed. When that 
time comes, men like Chalfont will be attracted to the movement as 


186 


ALTIORA PETO. 


certainly as the needle to the magnet; till then his sufferings and 
his unrest are the preparations necessary for the discipline and the 
purification of his nature.” 

At this point Hetherington was interrupted by the entry of Sir 
George Dashington with the morning paper in his hand. 

“Do you know where Bob Alderney is?” he asked, in an excited 
manner. 

‘ ‘ I saw him walking in the garden with Miss Terrill a few mo- 
ments ago,” replied Hetherington; “is anything the matter?” 

“Read that; but for God’s sake say nothing about it till we have 
decided what is to be done. Poor Adela! I don’t know how it is to 
be broken to her.” 

“ Read it out, Keithy,” said Hannah. 

Hetherington took the paper and read the following telegraphic 
despatch : 

“ The Earl of Sark was blown up last night on his estate in Ire- 
land when retiring to rest. It seems that some explosive material 
had been placed in the bedclothes. But faint hopes are entertained 
of the unfortunate nobleman’s recovery.” 

“Somebody will have to tell Adela,” said Sir George, who dis- 
liked all untoward occurrences, and the trouble they involved. 
“ She will be sure to want to go off at once; and as I have all sorts 
of important business to attend to, Bob Alderney had better take 
her. ’Pon my life, it’s one of the worst pieces of news I have ever 
received; but what else could you expect from the policy of the 
government. Ah, here’s a telegram,” he added, as the servant en- 
tered with a despatch; “just wait a moment, Hetherington, till I 
see what is in it. Perhaps Miss Coffin would kindly go and look for 
Miss Terrill and Alderney?” But Hannah had already disappeared. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

THE EFFECTS OF AN EXPLOSION. 

“Bobby,” said Hannah, as she overtook that gentleman walking 
with Mattie in a sheltered avenue, “where is Lady Adela?” 

“I saw her this moment go out driving with the baroness, Ma- 
dame Lauriola, and St. Olave,” replied Alderney. 

“ Stella and Altiora have gone out riding with Mr. Lauriola and 
Mr. Casseroll ; Mr. MacAlpine is in the throes of musical composi- 
tion somewhere ; Mr. Chalfont has gone to look after his parish- 


ALT10RA PETO. 


187 


ioners; Sir George is engaged in what is supposed to be financial 
correspondence; I thought Keith Hetherington was with you; and 
having thus accounted satisfactorily for the whole party, we had no 
fear of interruption,” added Mattie, significantly. 

“ When does the first train start for Ireland?” asked Hannah. 

“Well, no train goes there direct,” said Bob, laughing. “I 
should have to consult Bradshaw as to the quickest route from 
here. Why? Are you thinking about making the trip?” 

“I ain’t thinking about it; I’ve done all that. I am a-goin’ to 
start at onst, and you’re a-comin’ with me. Listen to this;” and 
Hannah repeated the words of the telegram which Hetherington 
had read. “That’s the kind of news that don’t bear delay, nor 
waitin’ for folks to come home from ridin’, to consult what’s to be 
done.” 

They met Sir George and Hetherington as they returned hurriedly 
to the house, and in a few moments it was discovered that the boat 
from Holyhead might be caught by going by the next train. 

“ You have only ten minutes to get ready in, Hannah. Order the 
dog-cart at once, George, while I put a few things together. We 
may just do it,” said Bob. 

‘ ‘ There ! I only want a brush and a comb and a night-gown in 
my hand- valise, Mattie, ” said Hannah, while she was putting on her 
bonnet. “You and Stella can follow with the jest of the things. 
Tell the Lady” — Hannah generally spoke of Lady Adela thus — “I 
had to take Bobby to show me the way, and there was no time to 
wait. Didn’t I say, Mattie, there was danger for Lordy in Ireland 
when first I heard he was a-goin’ over? If her husband won’t bring 
the Lady over, I suppose Keithy will, and you can come along with 
them. We shall have to let Altiora go back with her mama; but 
there ain’t no danger for her just now. Tell Stella she’s bound to 
come at onst; maybe she holds his life in her hands. It’s old Han- 
nah as says it,” she added, after a pause, “and she’d better believe 
it. Now hurry up, child, with them things. I hear the buggy 
a-comin’ round ;” and, snatching the bag from Mattie’s hand, she 
gave her a parting embrace, ran down-stairs with the alacrity of a 
girl of eighteen, and two minutes later was seated by Alderney’s 
side in the dog-cart. “I’ve told Mattie what you’d best all do,” she 
called out to Hetherington, as she waved her hand to him, without 
taking the slightest notice of Sir George, who never seemed to have 
realized her intentions until he saw her form rapidly retreating on 
his dog-cart down the approach. 

It is needless to describe the consternation and distress of the rid- 
ing and driving parties when they returned to the Grange, to be met 


188 


ALTIORA VETO. 


with the terrible intelligence which had been so promptly acted 
upon by Hannah and Bob Alderney. The Lauriolas, the baroness, 
and Altiora, with Mac Alpine and Casseroll, at once made prepara- 
tions for their immediate departure. 

“You had better go to London with the baroness and Altiora, ” 
said Stella to Hetherington. “It seems that Lord St. Olave is going 
to take charge of Lady Adela, as Sir George is too busy to go to 
Ireland.” 

“And what are you and Mattie going to do? Hannah said that 
she expected you to follow her to Ireland.” 

‘ ‘ I must go in the first instance to the Cottage ; after that our 
movements are uncertain. There are reasons why I am particularly 
anxious that they should remain so. Now, good-bye : I am going 
to confide them to Altiora, and shall then be the first to leave this 
house of mourning.” 

“Dear Altiora,” said Stella, taking that young lady into a corner 
of her bedroom while her maid was packing, ‘ ‘ Mattie and I have 
come to bid you good-bye. We are going to the Cottage first, and 
shall then meet Lady Adela at the station, and go with her to Ire- 
land; but I’ don’t wish any of our party here to know it. I was 
afraid, dear, that you might be bothered with that horrid Murkle, 
so I have just had time to write him this hurried note. Listen : 

“Dear Mr. Murkle, — I shall be delighted to see you at Copley- 
dale, if you will come here and bring the necessary documents with 
you. Your friend, Stella Walton.” 

“But,” said Altiora, “you won’t be at the Cottage if you are 
going to Ireland.” 

“Oh, I shall leave a note behind, begging him to follow me. 
There are many reasons why it will be much better for all of us to 
keep him travelling about on a wild-goose chase than brewing mis- 
chief in London. I went out riding with Mr. Casseroll to-day on 
purpose to pick the substance which he calls his brains; and from 
what I have been able to gather, there is a sort of conspiracy on foot 
in London to ruin poor Lord Sark in money and reputation : and 
now that he is no longer able to protect either, such men as Murkle 
are too dangerous to be left to their own devices. I only wish the 
Clymer could be as easily disposed of.” 

“Why,” said Altiora, “what has she got to do with it?” 

“Find out from your mother, my dear, if you can; she has been 
most confidentially engaged with Casseroll ever since he has been 
here, and, I think, has discovered more than I have. We are not 
going to let your cousin die, darling,” she added with a quivering 


ALT. 10 R. A PETO. 


189 


lip, and an emphasis on the last word as if it might have another 
application. ‘ ‘ And if you keep your eyes and ears open when you 
get to town you may be of use to him. Keith will help you. The 
people to be watched are Mr. Oasseroll and Mrs. Clymer. Lady 
Adela will tell you where to write to me, and you shall hear from 
us the moment we arrive.” 

And the tw T o girls hurried off, escaping the formality of special 
adieux under cover of the general pressure of events. 

The fate of Lord Sark affected Messrs. Lauriola and Casseroll only 
in the degree in which it might influence their financial arrange- 
ments and damage their pockets. And they had much to say to 
each other on their way to town; Lauriola, who had an interest in 
the Grandesella and Murkle combination, being in the difficult posi- 
tion of having to make up his mind whether to throw over his 
friends and join the Casseroll movement, or trust to Sark’s recovery 
and final escape from his present difficulties by fulfilling the ar- 
rangement to which he was honorably pledged. The baroness and 
Madame Lauriola, each inwardly speculating whether it would pay 
best to fight their way in society as friends or rivals, were cement- 
ing the forms of a hollow intimacy by sympathetic remarks on the 
recent lamentable occurrence, which Madame Lauriola had heard 
of, not altogether without a secret satisfaction; for she felt that the 
fascinations of her youth and beauty could scarcely compensate for 
the aristocratic connection, however distant, which the baroness en- 
joyed, and which Sark’s death would tend so materially to weaken. 
There was one subject, however, upon which they could exchange 
views with a delightful freedom and sense of luxury, if not with 
actual unanimity. To both Mrs. Clymer was an object of interest 
and curiosity; to Madame Lauriola she was, in addition, one of 
aversion ; while the baroness professed a guarded friendship, in a 
certain deprecatory tone, defending her just sufficiently to call forth 
the severe criticisms on her friend’s general conduct and morality 
which it did her feminine heart good to hear. 

“Depend upon it, baroness,” said Madame Lauriola, “a woman 
like Mrs. Clymer does not forgive such treatment as she seems to 
have received from Lord Sark easily. In one way or other, she 
will be avenged. She has too much the instinct of an adventuress 
—I might almost say of the demi-monde — to treat him with the 
dignity of a woman of the world.” 

“Indeed, I think you are mistaken in supposing Mrs. Clymer to 
be a vindictive woman,” returned the baroness, who had good rea- 
son for knowing the contrary, from the admissions she had extorted 
from Casseroll ; ‘ ‘ and I am sure I should never have allowed her inti- 


190 


ALTIORA PETO. 


macy with my daughter had I not assured myself that her friendship 
for Lord Sark arose merely from a sympathy of taste, and w T as of a 
purely platonic character. Poor thing! I am sure, in spite of the 
little coldness which seems to have arisen between them, that she 
will be dreadfully distressed to hear the news. I shall go and call 
upon her the first thing to-morrow. ” 

But the baroness had another visit to pay first, for she was alarmed 
at the turn affairs had taken financially, and at the threatened col- 
lapse of the negotiations, with the details of which, as we have 
seen, she had become familiar in Paris, and the pecuniary advan- 
tages of which she was not disposed to allow to slip from her with- 
out a struggle — for she was a woman who entertained a strong be- 
lief in the power of money, and of the necessity of making as much 
of it as possible. She was, therefore, exceedingly anxious to hear 
from Murkle the real state of the case, and drove to the office on 
the following morning with an unpleasant suspicion that, for some 
reason or other, he had not watched the interests of the firm, in the 
absence of its senior partner, with his ordinary vigilance. Richard 
Murkle had not long before arrived at his office, and was indulging 
in a sentimental day-dream, and wondering why he had not heard 
from Stella, when he was somewhat rudely disturbed by the en- 
trance of the baroness. 

“I only arrived last night from Copley Grange,” she said, “and 
have come straight here — I wanted to see you at once about this 
dreadful business. First, I want to know, if Sark dies, whether 
there is any one else w 7 ho can carry out his engagements ; secondly, 
if he lives, whether there is anybody that can act for him ; thirdly, 
in either case, whether there is anything seriously to be apprehended 
from this counter-agitation among the shareholders, the particulars 
of which I have obtained from young Casseroll — but, of course, I 
could not rely upon them ; and fourthly, whether, if there is any 
real danger, what steps you have taken to meet it.” 

“If you expect me to answer all those questions with the fluency 
with which you have put them, I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed, 
Laura,” said Murkle, yawning. “I saw Sark before he left on his 
unfortunate journey for Ireland, and telegraphed your husband the 
results of our interview. ” 

“And what were they?” 

“He wanted time, and he seems likely to get eternity,” he re- 
turned, with a smile of grim satisfaction at his joke. 

“And what becomes of the transfer of the company?” 

“Oh, I’m afraid the company will get blow r n up, like its chairman, 
before all its rights, privileges, and concessions can be transferred. ” 


ALTIORA PETO. 


191 


“And you can talk of a fatal accident to Lord Sark, which is 
likely to be attended with serious pecuniary loss to us, as if it was 
all a capital joke! I confess I don’t understand your conduct dur- 
ing the last week, Richard. You overwhelm me with threats and 
menaces; insist upon my going into the country to force Altiora to 
accept you as a husband, then write and tell me you have changed 
your mind ; allow Sark to slip through your hands and go to Ire- 
land without forcing him to fulfil his engagements; stand idly by 
and see a conspiracy formed to ruin him, when it is most important 
to us he should not be ruined ; keep the baron in ignorance of 
everything that is going on, and sit here twiddling a paper-knife 
and staring at the ceiling like an idiot, and then try to explain your 
conduct by profane and heartless jokes. Are you in love, or is 
your brain softening ? If you think you are likely to win Stella 
Walton for a wife, let me tell you that you are uncommonly mis- 
taken,” added the baroness, spitefully. 

“Are you aware that Sark proposed to her, and that she refused 
him?” he said. 

“No; and I don’t believe it.” 

“ Possibly Altiora could give you some information on the subject 
which would lead you to change your mind. Meantime, perhaps 
you wdll allow me to be the best judge of my own affairs.” 

“But they are my affairs as well as yours. I shall telegraph to 
the baron to come over at once;” and the baroness flounced out of 
the room and drove straight to Mrs. Clymer’s. 

“Mrs. Clymer’s gone out of town, my lady,” said the servant. 

(The baroness was particular about being always called “my lady ” 
by servants.) 

“What address did she leave?” 

“ She didn’t leave no address, my lady.” 

“Then you don’t know where she has gone? Try and think;” 
and the baroness, who was standing in the hall, significantly handled 
her purse. 

“Well, I think she’s gone to Ireland, my lady — leastwise, I know 
the tickets was took for Holyhead.” 

As she turned from the door she met Mr. Casseroll. 

‘ ‘ It’s no use— the bird has flown, Mr. Casseroll. Don’t you think, 
now, that you had better suspend operations with reference to this 
unfortunate company of Lord Sark’s until we hear something more 
definite from Ireland? Come and see me to-morrow, Mr. Casseroll,” 
she added, insinuatingly; “the baron will be back from Paris, and 
I really think we could arrive at a compromise which might be 
profitable to all of us.” 


192 


ALTIORA FETO. 


Casseroll, who had already had flies thrown to him in the same 
direction by Lauriola, and began to perceive that he might play an 
important part as an intermediary between these great financiers 
and the leaders of the opposition which he had been the means of 
creating, readily consented. 

“Let me see,” pursued the baroness: “the baron will come over 
by the night train. Come and breakfast with us, and, if you don’t 
mfnd, if you are going back to the City, look in upon Murkle and 
ask him to come too. I will write a note to Lauriola, and we will 
have a comfortable talk over the w T hole matter. By that time we 
shall have heard more definite news of Lord Sark ” 

The same night the baroness received the following note from the 
young stock-broker: 

“Dear Baroness, — I thought it best not to wait till we should 
meet at breakfast to-morrow to tell you that, on calling at Mr. Mur- 
kle’s office in the City this afternoon, I found that he was absent, 
and had left word that he had gone to the country, and would not 
be back for some days. Yours truly, T. Casseroll.” 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

MRS. CLYMER MEETS A MAN AND A “BROTHER.” 

A woman’s vengeance is rarely logical. No sooner did Mrs. 
Clymer begin to realize that the suggestions which she had made in 
a moment of passion to Dunleavy might result fatally to Sark, than 
the fear that his life might be in danger took possession of her. A 
strong reaction set in. She reproached herself with having been 
too precipitate — with having yielded too quickly to an impulse of 
rage and despair, when, after all, with time and perseverance, there 
might be no reason why she should not regain his affections. He 
had admitted that no rival stood in her way. If now, she reflected, 
she could prove her devotion by being the means of saving his life, 
he need never know that her inspiration had endangered it; and the 
very peril which she had contrived might thus lead to the full reali- 
zation of her desires, provided always that she was not too late to 
avert it. Under the conflicting emotions engendered by these hopes 
and fears the bijou residence became unendurable, and within twen- 
ty-four hours of Sark’s departure from London she was hurrying 
after him to Ireland. 

It was dark, with a light, drizzling rain, when she reached Holy- 
head, and she was alighting from the train, with her hands full, and 


ALTIORA PETO. 


193 


somewhat embarrassed by the slipperiness of the steps, when a gen- 
tleman passing politely offered his hand. The light of a lamp fell 
full on his face as he did so; and Mrs. Clymer, with a little scream, 
made an effort to shrink back, lost her footing, and would have 
fallen heavily, had she not been received by a stalwart pair of arms 
and placed lightly on her feet. 

“There, ma’am, you’re none the worse. By thunder! why, it’s 
Polly!” ejaculated the owner of the arms, still keeping one of them 
round her fair form. “ Give us a kiss, old girl, just to show there’s 
no ill-feeling.” And, without waiting for a reply, this unceremoni- 
ous individual proceeded to take it from the unresisting lips of the 
Clymer. 

“Oh, Ned,” she sighed, “how you startled me! Terence Dun- 
leavy told me you were in America.” 

“Well, you see, I am here — good luck to me, I may say, since it 
has brought us so lovingly together; and it’s just that same Terence 
I’m after at this minute. I got to Liverpool yesterday, and found a 
message telling me to meet him in Dublin, for I had wired him that 
I was called over to England unexpectedly. Where are you bound 
for? You’re not the sort of one that used to like travelling alone.” 

“Give me time to collect my thoughts, Ned, and I’ll tell you all 
about it; but it has flurried me a little meeting you so unexpectedly. 
Terence tells me you are doing a large business in dynamite — blow- 
ing up people, and that kind of thing.” 

“Here, let me stow you away in a comfortable corner,” said her 
companion, without answering this remark. “You used not to be 
sea-sick. We can have a quiet talk crossing over — it’ll make the 
time pass.” 

And the speaker began to make a dexterous arrangement of 
shawls and rugs, that showed he was no novice at travelling. He 
was a smooth-shaved, straight-nosed, bright-eyed man, with thin 
lips, a pointed chin, and somewhat sallow cheeks, but a remarka- 
bly fine head and brow, betokening considerable intellectual powers. 
He was quick in his movements, but deliberate of speech — evidently 
a man not easily discomposed, and of strong nerves. 

“There, little girl! Why, it reminds me of old times to be sitting 
along-side of you so cosy-like.” 

“How long is it since we parted, Ned?” 

“ A matter of five years; and it wasn’t my fault if we didn’t stay 
hitched till now.” 

“We won’t go back on that,” said Mrs. Clymer. “But perhaps 
I ought to remind you, now that we are nearing the coast of Ire- 
land, that I bear your name, Ned, and am your lawful wife.” 

13 


194 


ALT 10 R A PETO. 


“Well, now, I don’t know how that matter stands,” he replied, 
deliberately, moving his mouth like a man who has once had a habit 
of chewing tobacco, but has now given it up. “You know I mar- 
ried again, Polly.” 

“And have placed yourself completely in my power by so doing. 
There is a very heavy penalty attached to such irregularities on this 
side of the Atlantic, however common they maybe on the other.” 

“Well, whenever you have a month to spare, come across, and 
we’ll have it all put legally square. I can get a divorce in Illinois, 
where I live, any time in an hour. What’s making you so anxious 
about it, after letting five years go and saying nothing ? Do you 
want to marry again, Polly?” 

‘ ‘ Possibly ; and as I don’t want any inconvenient questions asked 
until I am legally freed from you, perhaps, Ned, you’ll be good 
enough, while we are likely to meet, to change your name. ” 

“Well, that will be difficult,” he rejoined. “ I’ve come especially 
over to see some one that has known me since I was a boy; besides, 
there’s Terence and the others that I’m doing business with.” 

“I should have thought your business was just a kind that made 
a change of names very convenient sometimes. At any rate, if we 
are to be friends and not enemies, you must agree to this ; and I want 
to be friends, Ned — it would be so disagreeable to me to have you 
put in prison. ” 

“It would take two of you, clever as you are, Polly,” replied Mr. 
Clymer, contemptuously. ‘ ‘ I thought you knew me well enough 
not to try threats, little girl. Take that back, or the first thing I do 
when I get to London is to call on the American Minister as Edward 
Clymer.” 

“ Very well, Ned, I take it back.” 

“That’s good. Now, Polly, what name would you like me to 
take?” 

“ Oh, please yourself.” 

“ Well, seeing my baggage is marked E. C., you may call me Mr. 
Collings. Now, is there anything more I can do for you, Polly? 
I’m pretty flush of cash; a thousand dollars or so, for the sake of 
old times, wouldn’t make much difference to me.” 

“ Oh, thank you, Ned; you were always generous.” 

“ So were you,” he retorted, dryly. 

“ There is one thing I want you to do,” she went on: “I want to 
introduce you to a great friend of mine, the Earl of Sark.” 

“Stop!” he interrupted. “Sark — Sark — where under heaven 
have I heard that name before?” And he continued to repeat the 
name as she proceeded; 


ALTIOBA PETO. 


195 


“He is now in Ireland; and I want you to tell him that you are 
my brother, and that you know that I am a free woman, and that 
there is no legal impediment to my marrying again — because there 
won’t be, Ned, if I run across and have our affair arranged ; and 
you can tell him that I have come into some property in America, 
and must go and see about it; and then I will go over and get the 
thousand dollars you are so kind as to offer me. Couldn’t you 
make it two, Ned? It would seem more worth going over for.” 

“ Polly, if you marry this Lord Sark I’ll make it five. Maybe we 
shall be able to do some business through him with the British gov- 
ernment. Anyhow, if you will work for a connection for me, you 
can have the money. You may be able, as my Lady Sark, to help 
me in my line of business with foreign governments. There’s a 
deal of money in it, Polly. You find out what’s going on, at the 
same time, among the Socialist chaps. I can’t always trust Terence. 
And these Irishmen, they’re always quarrelling among themselves, 
and giving orders and countermanding them, and ordering things 
and not paying for ’em, and accusing each other of stealing the 
money. I’m right glad I met you, Polly. We can do a great bus- 
iness together if you can bring this marriage off, and you may count 
on me to help you. Meantime, we’ll pass as brother and sister.” 

“Do you know Terence’s address in Dublin?” she asked; “be- 
cause we must see him at once. I am afraid he may have misun- 
derstood what I said to him about Lord Sark, and that something 
may happen to him.” 

“ To which of them? Terence?” 

“No; Lord Sark. He has gone over to his property on business, 
and I’m so afraid he may be shot. It’s terrible how they are shoot- 
ing landlords now.” 

“Yes,” replied Clymer; “it’s a clumsy way of doing things. 
I’ve got a new invention for getting rid of them; that’s one of the 
things I’ve come over about — not but what I would much rather 
take orders from the landlords to blow up the peasantry. Don’t 
you think, through this lord of yours, that you could manage to do 
anything for me in that line, Polly? Seems to me these Irish land- 
lords are a poor-spirited lot— got no grit in ’em. Now, I could sup- 
ply ’em with processes of eviction that would make it impossible for 
the tenants that were evicted ever to hold back their rents again in 
this world; and I defy any one to find out the landlord that served 
’em, or the way they were served. I tell you, Polly, I would much 
sooner blow up the tenants than the landlords, because, you see, I 
should be sure of my pay; but trade don’t take that channel, more’s 
the pity.” 


196 


ALTIORA PETO. 


“Well, Ned, you must make the best of things as they are,” said 
Polly, philosophically; “and if I marry Sark I will do what I can 
to help you. You had better send to Terence as soon as we arrive, 
to tell him to come and see us; and just watch my lead, and follow 
it, when I explain matters to him. ” 

Mrs. Clymer said this as they were driving to the hotel, and was 
about to send a message to Dunleavy requesting an immediate in- 
terview, when she was startled by an ejaculation from Mr. Clymer, 
who had just purchased a morning paper, which contained, in star- 
ing capitals, a notice of the tragic occurrence of the night before. 

“Halloo, Polly!” he exclaimed, “I am afraid you’ll be behind 
time with that marriage of yours. Listen to this;” and he read the 
paragraph. “Great Caesar! what a mess they must have made of 
it! If they had known how to handle that stuff properly there 
shouldn’t be a square inch of him left; and they say he is only 
mortally wounded. Why, little girl, what’s the matter?” 

This query was called forth by the fact that Mrs. Clymer had 
suddenly subsided on the floor in a dead faint. 

“No shamming about it,” pursued Mr. Clymer, musingly, and 
turning in his mouth his imaginary quid. “First time I ever saw 
her do such a thing. I didn’t believe she had it in her to care about 
anybody but herself to that amount. Guess the best way of bring- 
ing a woman out of a fainting-fit is to let her come to of herself. 
What queer critturs women are! Now, I might have blown myself 
higher than a kite at the time she was pretending to love me most, 
but she never would have done that for me. Perhaps it was be- 
cause he was a lord. Maybe some water would do her a little good, 
with a nip of whiskey in it. Here, Polly, look up, little girl. He’s 
only mortally wounded, so he ain’t dead ; and where there’s life 
there’s hope.” 

Mrs. Clymer opened her eyes, took a sip of whiskey-and-water, 
and murmured, “ Send for Terence at once.” 

“I’ll go myself for him. Don’t you go fainting away again 
while I’m away. What fools to go wounding a poor man like that! 
Astonishing to think that Polly could love any one so much!” he 
muttered; and until he reached Dunleavy ’s door Mr. Clymer seemed 
equally perplexed to account for the stupidity of men in not being 
able to blow up a fellow-man more skilfully, and for the capacity 
of women unexpectedly to develop such strong emotions of affec- 
tion. Nobody had ever heard of Terence Dunleavy at the address 
which that gentleman had furnished Mr. Clymer by wire. 

“ Sorra a Terence Dunleavy did I ivjr hear tell of,” said the 
shock-headed porter of the obscure second-class hotel, in answer to 


ALT I OR A PETO. 


197 


Mr. Clymer’s inquiries. That gentleman refrained instantly from 
making farther comment, and turned on his heel, with a low whistle. 

‘ ‘ Grot too hot for him already, and he only arrived yesterday 
morning. He must be mixed up in this affair of Polly’s lord,” he 
mused, as he retraced his steps. “If they hadn’t been in such a 
hurry they might have done it better, maybe. I wonder what 
Polly will do now?” 

But he was not left long in doubt. “Ned,” she said, when she 
received his report, “we must not lose a moment. Find out when 
the next train goes to Killboggin, County Kintrary.” 

“Am I to come with you?” asked Clymer, divided between a 
desire to find out why the explosion had not been more successful 
and a certain shrinking from approaching too closely the scene of a 
crime for which he had furnished the materials. 

“ Certainly; I need you now especially,” she replied. “Oh, if I 
could but be the means of saving his life!” 

‘ * All right, Polly ; I am always ready to sacrifice myself in the 
cause of humanity and beauty,” he added, politely. And five hours 
afterward they descended at the station of Killboggin, where they 
were narrowly inspected by a strong force of police drawn up on 
the platform, and where they found many of the county and gov- 
ernment officials already assembled. 


CHAPTER XXX. 

NURSING UNDER DIFFICULTIES. 

Mrs. Clymer was not a woman to be denied access to Lord Sark’s 
bedside — though, under the circumstances, she had to employ all 
her diplomacy to get there. Fortunately, she was a sufficiently pub- 
lic character — thanks to her position in the world of fashion, and 
the notoriety she enjoyed in the society papers as a beauty— to be 
known by name to some of the gentlemen present ; and her brother, 
Mr. Collings, played a most useful part in affording her that frater- 
nal protection of which a lone lady, rushing to the bedside of a 
wounded nobleman, stood in need. And indeed her promptitude 
stood her in good stead. The trained nurse that had been tele- 
graphed for had, through some mistake, not yet arrived; and the 
doctor, to whom she offered her services, was only too glad of an 
assistant who promised to be so capable and intelligent. What she 
chiefly feared was the effect upon Lord Sark’s nerves which her un- 
expected presence might produce. “What is the exact condition 
of your patient, doctor?” she asked. 


198 


ALTIOEA PETO. 


“ Well, my dear madam,” he answered, “the shock was so great 
that I feared he might have succumbed to its first effects ; but every 
hour brings hope with it. He is perfectly conscious, but, alas! per- 
fectly blind. Whether he will remain so it is impossible yet to tell. 
His left arm and side are severely injured, but I trust that ampu- 
tation will not be necessary. The wound in the side is the most 
dangerous. The face has been damaged, but not so seriously as 
to remain permanently disfigured, with careful treatment. In the 
mean time, utterance is painful and difficult. I must warn you, as 
an old friend of Lord Sark’s, that you must prepare yourself for a 
painful spectacle.” 

“It is just because I am an old friend of his,” she said, with a 
sad smile, which awoke a profound sympathy on the part of the 
susceptible little doctor, “that I have a special request to make, and 
this is, that Lord Sark should be kept in utter ignorance of my pres- 
ence here. Let me be called ‘Nurse,’ and treated as one.” 

“We have a professional nurse coming; and have just received a 
telegram from Lady Adela Dashington to say that she expects to 
arrive here to-morrow night. ” And seeing that Mrs. Clymer’s brow 
slightly clouded at this intelligence, lie murmured to himself, “Evi- 
dently a little family romance. My sympathies are all with the 
first comer,” and he politely led the way up-stairs. 

“ I shall probably only stay till the arrival of some of the family,” 
she remarked ; ‘ ‘ and perhaps my brother, Mr. Collings, may be put 
up in the Castle somewhere.” 

“It is scarcely worth while mentioning the matter to my col- 
league, who has just arrived. I will take all the responsibility, my 
dear lady,” said the doctor, who, in his professional capacity, looked 
forward to a delightful familiarity of intercourse with the beautiful 
and interesting nurse ; ‘ ‘ and I am sure that Lady Adela, when she 
arrives, will only be too glad to retain your services. Meantime, if 
you will allow me, I will go and inform my patient that the nurse 
has arrived.” 

If compassion is akin to love, love certainly is a wonderful stimu- 
lant to compassion. And when Mrs. Clymer looked upon the vic- 
tim of her vengeance, lying wrecked upon his bed, in the prime of 
his strength and manly beauty, it was only by an effort of most 
powerful self-control that she prevented herself from falling on her 
knees at his bedside, bursting into an agony of tears, and pouring 
out her soul in a' mixed torrent of remorse and devotion, of self- 
reproach and passionate protestations of her love. But, although 
the room was darkened, she felt the doctor’s eye gleaming through 
the gloom upon her with sympathetic curiosity, and she hoped lie 


ALTIORA PETO. 


199 


did not see the trembling of her limbs and the pallor of her counte- 
nance. It seemed to her providential that she was not called upon 
to speak, for she could not have trusted herself to break the silence, 
disturbed only by the heavy breathing, sometimes prolonged into a 
moan, of the suffering patient. His face and eyes were bandaged, 
and his left arm and side swathed in the wrappages which it would 
be her duty to attend to. She sat down silently by the head of the 
bed and placed her handkerchief to her eyes. This, she felt, was a 
feminine weakness which the doctor would understand and think 
legitimate under the circumstances. After a few moments, during 
which Mrs. Clymer was passing through some internal experiences 
which were new to her, and which may not impossibly exercise a 
favorable influence upon her character in time to come, the doctor 
beckoned to her. 

“I must now, my dear lady — my dear nurse, I should say — give 
you some directions in regard to our patient. You will first, please, 
assist me, as it is time to change the bandages and dress the wounds 
again.” 

For four hours did Mrs. Clymer keep her watch with an assiduity 
and tenderness which quite justified the doctor’s acceptance of her 
services, her bosom a prey to the conflicting emotions excited by 
the sufferings of her patient and by her own. As it was, above all 
things, essential to Lord Sark’s safety that he should be spared any 
mental shock or agitation, she could devise no way by which she 
could maintain her position by his bedside after the arrival of the 
first members of his family, now that it was impossible to obtain 
from him the expression of his desire that she should do so. She 
foresaw that the meeting, even with gentle Lady Adela, would be a 
stormy one, as she was well aware of the existence of her antipathy, 
which her ladyship had taken no pains to conceal. Moreover, what 
right could she claim, in the presence of Lord Sark’s own sister, to 
be his nurse? She wondered whether Sir George would accompany 
his wife, and whether she might not be successful with him. Then 
her mind reverted to the fact that Sark’s cousin, Bob Alderney, 
might not improbably form one of the party; and this suggested a 
whole train of reflections, connected with the two Californian girls 
and Altiora, which were by no means calculated to restore her equa- 
nimity. If only she could, in some way, make her ground secure 
while the field was clear! She determined to repose a partial confi- 
dence in the doctor, and see whether he could not suggest a method 
of sounding the patient on the subject without producing an undue 
agitation. 

“I expect the Dublin nurse in half an hour,” whispered the doc- 


200 


ALTIORA PETO. 


tor, “and then you must really allow her to relieve you; you will 
be quite unfit for farther attendance on his lordship if you exhaust 
yourself in this way immediately on your arrival.” 

“Alas! my dear doctor,” she replied, in her most winning tones, 
“it is just because I fear that my services will so soon be dispensed 
with that I am anxious not to spare myself while I am allowed to 
be here. I feel convinced that, unless Lord Sark himself expresses 
a wish that I should continue to nurse him, Lady Adela will insist 
upon taking entire charge of him.” 

“Are you not on good terms with her ladyship?” he asked, 
bluntly. 

“ Well, frankly, no. Lord Sark and I have been great friends for 
some time, and she has been jealous of what she imagines to be my 
influence over him — though, I am sure, I have never tried to use it 
except for his good.” 

“Hum!” mused the doctor, with a quizzical glance; “I am afraid 
my word would go for very little, my dear nurse. In what way do 
you think I could assist you?” 

“ Could you not sound Lord Sark as to whether he would not 
like me to attend him? Say that you have received a telegram from 
me from Dublin, offering to come at once if he wishes it. Unfortu- 
nately, the last time we met we had a little quarrel; but, with his 
life trembling in the balance, he would not, I am sure, continue to 
harbor any bitter feeling toward me.” 

“Listen,” said the doctor; “he is moaning; he is beginning to 
recover from the effects of the anodyne I gave him to lull the pain, 
and probably wants something. Go into the next room for a mo- 
ment, and I will see what can be done.” 

This conversation had been carried on in a whisper in a corner of 
the large bedroom, and Mrs. Clymer slipped silently out of it as the 
doctor approached his patient. 

“How do we feel now?” he asked— “a little easier?” But an 
inarticulate murmur was the only reply. “Your sister, Lady Adela 
Dashington, will be here to-morrow,” he went on. “Meantime, we 
need another nurse badly. A friend is often much better under 
these circumstances than a professional,” he continued, after a 
pause, gently placing his finger on Lord Sark’s pulse, to feel how 
the suggestion he was about to make might affect him. “Though 
professionals are, in some respects, most valuable, what we need is a 
judicious combination of the experience of the one and the devotion 
of the other. You follow me?” 

Lord Sark slightly moved his head in sign of assent. 

“I have received a telegram from a lady in Dublin who seems to 


ALTIORA PJETO. 


201 


be an old friend of yours, and who has kindly offered her services; 
but before accepting them I should like to know whether it would 
be agreeable to you that I should do so.” (“That’s a thumper!” 
said the doctor to himself, “but it’s justified by professional neces- 
sity.”) “Now,” he said, placing his left hand in Sark’s, while he 
kept the right on his pulse, “you need not make an effort to speak; 
but if, when I mention the name, you approve, press my hand ; and 
if you don’t, draw it away. The lady’s name is Mrs. Clymer.” 

“No!” ejaculated Sark, with a groan that almost amounted to a 
shout, as he drew his hand quickly away, and the doctor felt the 
pulse bounding under his touch. 

“Soho! gently. Why, our strength is coming back! I was quite 
glad to hear that energetic ‘No,’ my lord. Don’t be the least 
alarmed ; there is not the slightest danger of the lady’s coming here, 
if you don’t wish it. I will telegraph at once to decline her offer 
with thanks. God help me, how I am lying!” he muttered. “ Here, 
take a little of this. You are decidedly improving. We shall have 
a consultation as soon as Dr. Crooks arrives. Meantime, my col- 
league, who came this morning, takes a decidedly hopeful view of 
the case. Now try and rest a little;” and the doctor withdrew 
silently to make his report to Mrs. Clymer. 

“ I am sorry that I can’t bring you very favorable news,” he said. 
“Lord Sark seems to entertain a strong objection to your presence. 
I put it bluntly, my dear” — the doctor forgot to add “nurse” this 
time, in his anxiety to spare Mrs. Clymer’s feelings — “but it must 
be kept a profound secret from him that you are here. I am afraid 
you must disappear before Lady Adela’s arrival, or you will get me 
into a terrible scrape, as I was obliged to pledge my word that I 
would telegraph to Dublin to you not to come ; so you see my posi- 
tion. It would really relieve my mind very much, Mrs. Clymer, if 
you would not stay after the nurse arrives. If by any chance Lord 
Sark were to discover that you were here the consequences might 
be terrible. You cannot think how it pains me to urge this point;” 
and he took her hand and pressed it in a fatherly way— for, to do 
the doctor justice, he would much rather that she could have stayed, 
and felt that they were both making a sacrifice. 

“I accept my fate without a murmur,” she replied; “ but I shall 
be too tired to start at once. It is now getting late. You must let 
me force myself upon Lord Sark’s hospitality for the night. I will 
not enter his room again without your permission ; but there is no dan- 
ger of Lady Adela coming before I can make my escape in the morn- 
ing. In the mean time, so much may happen— I want to know the 
result of your consultation— and perhaps to-morrow, before I leave, 


202 


ALTIORA PETO. 


you will be able to judge more definitely as to his state. It would 
save me so much suspense, dear doctor, to let me stay;” and this 
time Mrs. Clymer put her hand in his. “Do you know,” she said, 
sweetly, “ that I have not eaten anything for nearly ten hours?” 

“Bless my soul! what have I been thinking about? Dinner has 
been ordered for your brother and yourself, and should be ready in 
half an hour. You will find him in the drawing-room. There’s 
the carriage, with the nurse and the doctor. Let me show you the 
way;” and the doctor ushered Mrs. Clymer into a sitting-room, 
where, seated in an arm-chair, with his feet on the fender, before a 
cheerful blaze, Mr. Clymer, alias Collings, had buried himself in the 
sporting experiences of Mr. Soapey Sponge. 

“Well, Polly,” he remarked, looking up, as the doctor left the 
room, “come at last. How goes it with the exploded aristocrat? 
Is there any prospect of hash in this old castle?” 

“ Oh, Ned, don’t be so heartless! I hope he will live. Yes, we 
shall have some dinner immediately. Then we shall sleep here, 
and go back to Dublin the first thing in the morning. ” 

“Oh, that’s it, is it? And what about my telling him you are 
free to marry him, and your late husband is married again, and all 
that story?” 

“Well, we must put that off. He is not in a condition to hear 
anything — scarcely conscious, in fact. And some of the family are 
coming to-morrow, and it might make a muss if I stayed on and 
met them. But there will be other people I shall want you to tell 
that story to, Ned, who can tell him afterward. It has become 
important that my social position should be more clearly defined. 
I see I made a mistake in neglecting to straighten matters before. 
But English society is so easy ; they don’t ask questions, especially 
if you are an American, and can amuse them, and have good looks, 
and understand how to rise from aesthetics into flirtation. High 
art, pluck, beauty, and a foreign extraction cover a multitude of 
sins. ” 

“ What puzzles me, Polly,” said her companion, whose mind was 
apparently running in a different channel, “is, how the darned 
thing missed fire and didn’t blow his head off. Did you find out?” 

“No, Ned; I never thought of inquiring. The doctor said it 
must have been something very small, as they could find no traces 
of it left in the bed.” 

“Yes, it covers its own tracks, that’s the beauty of it. But it 
was just like those blundering Irishmen — they put it under the 
clothes, I suppose, instead of under the pillow, where the even 
pressure, when you put your head down, makes it go off and carry 


ALTIOUA PETO. 


203 


away pillow, head, and all. Of course, if you go putting it down 
among the bedclothes you can’t calculate on what it will do lying 
about loose — depends, then, on how it happens to be struck. But, 
bless you, Ireland’s no market in comparison to Russia — they don’t 
bungle things there. I’m sending a consignment over there now 
that will wake up old Europe when they get them fairly to going. 
That’s one of the things I came over about. Did you ever think 
about cause and effect, Polly? Because here I am, a mighty insig- 
nificant-looking cause, sitting with my feet cocked up over your 
lord’s fire; but I tell you, when you come to read in the newspapers 
about the effects I’ve produced you won’t be astonished at its giv- 
ing a man a sort of feeling of power he don’t like to part with. I 
suppose Bismarck’s the biggest man in Europe ; but I’ve got tricks 
in my pocket that would play him out, when it comes to creating a 
general sensation. It takes very small men to pull the biggest wires 
nowadays, thanks to the progress of invention and the arts of civil- 
ization. But what beats me, Polly, is, who is it that pulls the small 
men? That’s what I wonder when these inventions come into my 
head, and I sell them to those that calculate to overturn empires with 
them. How do they get into my head, and why are they allowed 
to get there, when they’re bound to do such a lot of mischief? 
Well, it’s no affair of mine. I’m not responsible for inventing 
things; I’ve got to make a living. Live and don't let live — that’s 
my motto.” 

“Ned,” said Mrs. Clymer, “shut up! I’ve got puzzles in life 
enough of my own to solve; I don’t want to hear yours. The way 
you talk makes me feel quite uncomfortable, particularly when I 
think of my poor friend up-stairs. Here’s dinner. You can behave 
like a gentleman when you choose: act your best now, because w T e 
shall meet some of the doctors; and, for your own sake, keep off 
the topic of explosives and the tragedy here. I am very tired, so 
I shall go to bed immediately after dinner, and we’ll take the first 
train to Dublin in the morning.” 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

HANNAH HEARS SOMETHING TO HER ADVANTAGE. 

It was past midnight. Mrs. Clymer had long forgotten her 
troubles and anxieties in a sound and dreamless sleep, the doctor 
having been especially careful to see that the necessary directions 
had been given for her early waking and departure on the follow- 


204 


ALTIORA PETO. 


mg morning. The dining-room had long been deserted; but Mr. 
Collings, to call him by his assumed name, had been initiated into 
the mysteries of a comfortable smoking-room, where the doctors, 
who were amused by the originality of his conversation and his 
knowledge of certain branches of science, from time to time came 
to smoke a cigar and keep him company. It was the habit of this 
ingenious gentleman, on such occasions, to pass as a professional 
electrician; and having great fluency of speech, and a very consid- 
erable knowledge of the subject, he seldom failed, especially when 
under the influence of strong liquors, of which there was an abun- 
dant supply in the smoking-room, to entertain his hearers. He was, 
moreover, a person who was in the habit of indulging in what he 
called u dog snoozes” — in other words, of sleeping either by day 
or night, whenever the fancy took him ; and the advantages of the 
smoking-room seeming greater than those of bed, he sat up with- 
out manifesting any disposition to retire until it approached the 
small hours of the morning. He was holding forth to one of the 
doctors on the merits of a self -steering torpedo, when their atten- 
tion was arrested by the sound of wheels on the gravel. Shortly 
after there was the noise of an arrival in the hall, and the doctor 
went out to see who had come* 

Ned, being a person who usually lived with his eyes and ears open, 
was more decided than ever to devote himself to whiskey-and-water 
and cigars, and waited to hear who the new-comers might be; but 
no doctor returning to report, and his curiosity increasing with the 
delay, he determined to set forth on a voyage of discovery, which 
he could always explain by pretending to be in search of his bed- 
room. He had crossed the hall and was proceeding along a passage 
toward the sound of voices, when he saw advancing toward him a 
tall female figure, carrying a candle. “ One of the new arrivals, I 
suppose,” said Ned, to himself. “I wonder whether this can be the 
lord’s sister come before her time ? Polly will be in a fix, I guess, 
if it is. Great Caesar!” he exclaimed, as they met; “ why, it’s Aunt 
Hannah herself!” 

“So, Ned Clymer,” said Miss Coffin, without showing a particle 
of surprise or emotion, “you have come over at last — in conse- 
quence of my letter, I suppose. But what are you a-doin’ in this 
house? I mistrust you're here for no good. Curious,” she said, 
musing to herself; “seemed all the time as if it wasn’t for Lordy I 
felt bound to hurry so. I suppose it was you I had to meet here. 
You know what I wanted you over for?” 

“How should I?” he replied. “Your letter was like a message 
from a Delphic oracle. You said I ran great risks if I delayed on 


ALTIORA PETO. 


205 


the other side, and could make great profits if I came to this one; 
and as I only once before in my life received a letter from you, just 
of the same kind, and it all came true as gospel, I did not dare to 
disobey this one, especially as mine is the kind of business that is 
made up of great risks and great profits; besides, I had other reasons 
for coming over.” 

“Well, a man with two wives, both alive, and his pockets full of 
dynamite, has more risk than profit, seems to me,” said Hannah. 
“But it’s cold standing here; and I have a little to say to you, and 
you have a great deal to say to me. There’s a little parlor with a 
fire in it — a ‘ boodwar, ’ they call it — off my bedroom, where we can 
talk. Here, Bobby,” she called out to that gentleman, who was 
standing at the other end of the passage, wondering at her delay — 
‘ ‘ come here. This is my nephew by marriage, come to meet me by 
special appointment, and we have a deal to say to each other that has 
to be said to-night. You go and help watch in Lordy’s room, and 
call me if I’m wanted, otherwise I won’t disturb him to-night; and 
you had best not tell him I am here. I ain’t a-goin’ to bed, anyway. 
Now, Ned” — and Miss Coffin led the way to the apartment in 
question. 

‘ ‘ Sit down, ” she said. ‘ ‘ I suppose you know that your wife Polly, 
as left you five years ago, is a-keepin’ up a grand style in London as 
a fashionable beauty?” 

“ I know that she is sleeping under this very roof to-night,” he 
answered. 

“My sakes, but she’s a smart one! When did she hear the news?” 

“We were in Dublin when we heard it. I met her accidentally 
coming across from Holyhead. The intelligence seemed to upset 
her so that she went off into an honest faint, and insisted on coming 
down here at once. She seems to want to marry this lord, as she 
asked me to pass as her brother, and tell him, when I saw him, that 
she had been legally divorced. Then she was to go over with me to 
America later to get it properly fixed; so just now I go by the name 
of Collings, if you’d kindly remember. I should like to see poor 
Polly well married, and told her I’d help her all I could,” he added, 
in his own justification. “How do you come to get mixed up with 
her and her concerns?” he asked. “ She ain’t one of your sort.” 

“That don’t matter,” said Hannah; “she never guessed who I 
was; but I made her out the first day I set eyes on her.” 

“There was no reason she should,” he answered; “I never spoke 
about poor Clara to her, nor yet about Clara’s relations. There was 
no way for her to know that my first wife was a niece of yours. It 
was a matter of ten years after Clara died before I married her; and 


206 


ALT IOB A PETO. 


after three years we couldn’t agree, and she left me. We lived in 
Europe, all the time travelling about. I picked her up in Chili, 
where, I believe, she was born. Her father was in the Chilian army 
or navy, I forget which.” 

Miss Coffin listened to his recital with an unmoved countenance, 
but with her eyes fixed on him as he rattled on with the utmost un- 
reserve, as a man reckless by nature, and too confident in himself 
and his resources to love mystery when it was not needed. Indeed, 
it seemed a relief and satisfaction to meet some one to whom, from 
early association, he could talk freely of the events of his own life. 
She knew that he merely needed the cue to be given to him to 
ramble on. 

* ‘ It’s many years since we met, Ned, and we parted angrily then. 
I thought I never could forgive you for your conduct to Clara; but 
time brings forgiveness — and, poor darlin’, I know she would be the 
first to say, ‘ Forgive him, aunty — he was young, and didn’t know no 
better.’ ” 

“That’s so,” he replied, huskily. “She was the only woman I 
ever loved — more shame to me. You may forgive me, but I can 
never forgive myself.” 

There was a long pause, during which she watched him narrowly; 
and he turned uneasily in his chair, apparently in doubt. 

“Aunty,” he said, at last, “there’s many a time during these 
twenty years I’ve been wanting to come and see you, and tell you 
something that was on my mind; but, either from pride or shame, I 
wouldn’t be the first to make the offer, and I blame myself. It’s 
about poor Clara’s aunt Fanny, your youngest sister. ” 

“What!” exclaimed Hannah, in a voice of the most painful sur- 
prise, and for the first time her face worked with an emotion which 
she vainly endeavored to control. She drew her chair to his and 
clasped his hand. “Oh, Ned, Ned ! to keep back that from me, 
and you knowing how I loved her, and never ceased grievin’ and 
wonderin’! Quick! tell me.” 

‘ ‘ I’m sorry, aunty— I am indeed. It’s a curious story. It was 
about six months after poor Clara died that I went for the first time 
to Europe; that's a matter of eighteen or nineteen years ago. I was 
five-and-twenty then, and went over to travel for a firm that manu- 
factured the newest rifles of that day. One day, as I was crossing 
through Italy, the train I was in broke down in a wild part of the 
country, and I found myself with nothing to do at a small wayside 
station. Seeing there was an old castle near by, standing in the 
middle of gardens and vineyards, I made inquiries if it was worth 
seeing, and was told that it was lived in by an English lady, whose 


ALT I Oil A PETO. 


207 


husband had died only a short time before. So I strolled along the 
road, to get a better look at the gardens, and I saw a lady in black 
coming along, with a nurse and a baby; and when I came up to her 
who should it be but Aunt Fanny herself 1 It was five years since I 
had seen her, and she looked so thin and changed I scarce knew 
her; but she was always a beauty. She gave a little scream when 
she saw me, and I thought she would have fainted. Then I told 
her how I came to be there — that it was only by accident ; and she 
made me fetch my valise and stay over the night. She told me her 
husband had died only six months before, and that she had a baby, 
a little girl, that was only four months old.” 

“Do you remember whether she told you how she named the 
child?” interrupted Hannah, breathlessly. 

“I remember distinctly, because it seemed such a curious name. 
I wrote it down in full, and I have kept it ever since; and one of the 
reasons that determined me to come over when I got your letter 
was, to give it to you and tell you all about it,” and he took from 
his pocket-book the memorandum, which he handed to Hannah, and 
as he did so a little scrap of paper fluttered to the ground unper- 
ceived. Scarcely able to see through her blinding tears, she read, 
“Altiora Peto.” “Peto,” he continued — “that was the name of 
the English gentleman she married; and he said, before he died, 
that if the child was a girl she was to be called Altiora. It was the 
last word he ever spoke. Then she went back on the old family 
quarrel and her own headstrong temper, that made her marry Cart- 
wright against all your wishes; and how they disagreed; and liow 
she ran away with the child, so that he should not get him, and hid 
awav in Europe ; and how, when she heard of his death, she was 
coimng back with her little boy, when he took ill, and it was in his 
illness that Mr. Peto was so kind to her, and comforted her when 
her child’s death nearly drove her to despair. So she married him, 
and still kept it secret, although meaning, when she could persuade 
her husband to come, to bring him to America; but they were so 
happy in their castle that the time slipped by. He was a great 
student and a clever man, with a large fortune, which was all to go 
to his daughter; but he loved solitude and the climate of Italy, and 
she was happy with him for a year, and then he died. Some time 
before his death they had a lady staying, as a sort of companion, the 
widow of an English merchant and banker who was Mr. Peto’s man 
of business, and she was there when he died, and I suppose remained 
with Aunt Fanny afterward, only I did not see her, as she happened 
to be ill that day. She said Mr. Peto had no near relations alive; 
and now I remember why Lord Sark’s name seemed known to me 


208 


ALTIOliA PETO. 


when Polly mentioned it. Aunt Fanny told me that Altiora was 
related through his grandmother to the noble family of Sark. Next 
morning I went away, promising to keep her secret. ‘As soon as I 
am well enough I shall start for America with baby, ’ she said ; but 
she was hardly able to come down and wish me good-bye, she felt 
so poorly, and she said she was going back to her bed. I have often 
wondered since,” he added, “whether she ever got up from it, and 
what became of the baby.” 

“Do you remember the name of the English lady who was living 
with her as a companion?” asked Hannah. 

“I don’t think she told it to me; but we had so much to say I 
have forgotten it if she did. She had not heard of Clara’s death, 
and of course wanted news of you all. And I had to tell her some 
things about myself that were not true, God help me!” 

Mr. Clymer’s narrative was followed by a long pause, which Han- 
nah broke abruptly. 

“Give me a kiss, Ned,” she said. “ Now go and lie down on that 
couch and go to sleep while I think. I don’t want to let you out 
of my sight till this Polly business is settled.” 

“What has Polly got to do with it, aunty? Don’t be too hard 
upon her. ” 

“Just look square at me,” said the old lady, whose eyes were now 
as bright and glittering as ever, and from whose countenance all 
traces of emotion had disappeared. “Am I likely to take advice 
from such as you, even though she is your wife? You do what I 
bid you right straight through this business, as you don’t under- 
stand anything about, or you’ll get into serious trouble. It’s old 
Hannah says so, and you’d better believe it. Now go to sleep.” 

And Ned, who apparently held his late wife’s aunt in considerable 
awe, probably from some old association, meekly obeyed the injunc- 
tion, which a man of more sensitive nerves would have resisted in 
spite of himself, and in five minutes was fast asleep. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

MR. COLLINGS PERFORMS A DELICATE DUTY. 

For more than an hour did Hannah sit musing over the unex- 
pected intelligence she had just received, and over the new and ten- 
der light that it had thrown upon her existence. Her thoughts re- 
verted to those early days when the warm affections of her strong 
nature were concentrated on the little sister, fifteen years younger 


ALT ion A PETO. 


209 


than herself, who was the life and joy of the family, and upon whom, 
as she grew up to be the belle of the village, her old father had lav- 
ished his devotion, sparing no expense to complete that education 
which in Hannah had been so wofully neglected, until, naturally 
highly gifted, the renown of her beauty and accomplishments spread 
far and wide, and attracted, among other suitors, George Cartwright, 
the brilliant but unprincipled politician, who wooed and won her, in 
spite of the tears and entreaties of both her sisters ; and how, too 
proud afterward to acknowledge her mistake, she had been com- 
pelled to side with her husband in the quarrel which had led to her 
final breach with her family, and more especially with that eldest 
sister, whose daughter had made a no less unfortunate choice in her 
union with Edward Clymer. But, made of sterner fibre than her 
niece, instead of pining to death under neglect and ill-treatment, 
Mrs. Cartwright, who had inherited a little money, took the decided 
step of flying from the country with her child, and, eluding all pur- 
suit, had remained perdu, so far as her family were concerned, until 
Ned had now so suddenly revealed her history, and brought to Han- 
nah’s beating heart the consciousness that in Altiora she had found 
a niece on whom the affections which had been so long smothered 
might be lavished anew. “No wonder I felt drawed to her,” she 
murmured, “and seemed to feel at times as if it was Fanny’s voice 
I was a-listening to, and Fanny’s step I heard, and Fanny’s lips on 
mine, when the dear child was a-kissin’ me.” So absorbed was she 
by this conflict of sad reminiscences of the past with pleasurable 
anticipations for the future, that it was some time before she re- 
acted into a passionate outburst of indignation against the baroness 
for the fraud which had threatened to sacrifice the girl’s existence 
to her selfish ends, and by which she had so successfully concealed 
her own identity and adopted- that of the lost sister. She saw it all 
now — the cleverly devised conspiracy by means of which a group of 
adventurers in an obscure Italian town had been enabled to appro- 
priate the large fortune which of right belonged to Altiora, and to 
take advantage of the mystery in which her mother’s, fate had be- 
come involved to conceal her death and pass off her lady compan- 
ion, familiar with all the circumstances of her life and private mar- 
riage, as the widow of the deceased Mr. Peto. “Their turn will 
come,” she muttered — and I am afraid for a moment her natural in- 
stincts got the better of her, and the prospect of being revenged on 
the wicked triumvirate afforded her a fleeting satisfaction; but if 
such were the case she speedily checked it, for she went on: “ God 
help me for thinking of such things, or feelin’ anything but love for 
'em poor infested critturs— it’s the devils in ’em as does it. There’s 

14 


210 


ALTIORA PETO. 


Ned, now, makes his livin’ by explodin’ people, and calls himself a 
sane man. The proper place for him is a ’sylum. He’s a danger- 
ous lunatic, he is.” As she spoke she glanced at him, and then her 
eye rested on the scrap of paper on the floor which had fallen from 
his pocket-book when he had given her Altiora’s name. She 
stooped and picked it up. “Terence Dunleavy, Raggitt’s Hotel, 
Dublin,” was all that was written upon it. Mechanically she twisted 
it up, unable to bring her thoughts back from the one absorbing topic, 
till she started suddenly, with a smothered exclamation, “My sakes, 
how I go on a-dreaming and wastin’ time! It’s nigh four o’clock in 
the morning, and I ain’t begun to think about that Polly business yet.” 

Just then a low tap at the door aroused her attention; she got up 
and went to it. “ It is only me, Hannah,” said Bob Alderney. “I 
thought I should find you here, as you said you would sit up, in 
case you were wanted. Halloo !” he exclaimed, startled at seeing the 
unknown visitor peacefully slumbering on the couch, ‘ ‘ your nephew 
seems to be making himself at home. How in the world did he 
know that he should meet you here?” 

“ Never mind, Bobby — you’ll know in good time ; only trust old 
Hannah. How’s Lordy?” 

“ The doctors say that he is going to pull through after all, unless 
he gets some unexpected relapse ; but it seems to have been a near 
thing, and the danger is not past yet. The police appear to have 
got a clew to the perpetrators of the crime. I have just had a long 
talk with the chief detective, and he tells me they are on the track 
of an American-Irishman, who seems to have been mixed up with 
it in some way.” 

“Did he tell you his name, Bobby?” 

“No; I didn’t ask, for I knew he wouldn’t tell me.” 

“Go and find it out at onst. Tell ’em there’s reasons you can’t 
explain now why, maybe, if you know the name, you may be able 
to help ’em. Don’t you fail now, Bobby— there’s a deal hangs on it; 
and come back as quick as you can.” 

“ Deary, deary!” she went on to herself, when Alderney had taken 
his departure, “where is this thing a-goin’ to lead to? To think that 
it may fall to me to be the accuser of poor Clara’s husband ! Oh, 
Ned, Ned, what trouble you’ve brought with you— and what joy!” 
she added, after a pause; and she slowly opened the paper she had 
never ceased twisting between her fingers, and read the name and 
address again carefully. 

“Well, Bobby, did they tell you?” she asked, as he re-entered. 
“Softly; speak very low— I don’t want him woke. Did they tell 
it to you?” 


ALT 10 It A PETO. 


211 


“Yes, Hannah. I had some trouble to get it out of him — it’s 
Terence Dunleavy.” 

“ Well, don’t you tell anybody else,” said Hannah, without show- 
ing any sign of surprise or recognition of the name, “but just go 
back to Lordy’s room and stay there; or maybe you had better go 
to bed. I don’t want you any more.” 

Alderney cast a suspicious and lingering glance at Ned. “ Does 
anybody besides you know he is here?” he asked. “ They ought to 
know, you know.” 

“Well, I will tell ’em; but you’ll spoil everything if you meddle. 
Just keep your head shut till I give you the word to open it. Now, 
good-night, or rather good-morning. Trot off. ” 

No sooner was she left alone than she laid her hand on the 
sleeper’s shoulder and shook him lightly. 

“It’s gettin’ on for five, Ned; I can’t let you sleep longer, with 
the work that we have afore us. Do you know the room Polly is 
a-sleepin’ in?” 

“Not I, aunty; but that doctor that was here when we came could 
tell you, if he isn’t in bed. He seemed to have the general charge of 
things, and no doubt some of the servants are up that know. ” 

“Are you flush of money? Have you made much out of this 
killin’ business?” she inquired. 

“ Pretty tidy. I was telling Polly that if she married this lord I’d 
give her five thousand dollars. I’m not a stingy man, nor one that 
bears malice, aunty.” 

“Good for you. If you were what a lot more people you’d blow 
up than you do! It’s a dangerous business, Ned — mighty risky. 
There’s a man by the name of Terence Dunleavy is in it with you 
— ain’t there?” 

“How in — Well, I won’t swear, aunty, seeing it’s you; but how 
came you to know that?” 

“Polly knows him, don’t she?” asked Hannah, whose suspicions 
had been roused when she tirst heard of Mrs. Clymer’s presence in 
Dublin, before the news of the accident had reached England. 

“What has that to do with it?” he answered, sulkily. 

“Don’t you see, Ned, that I’m a-puttin’ things together, and that 
I know enough to do it, whether you choose to help me or no? But 
there’s this difference 'between your doin’ it with me, or leavin’ me 
to do it without you : in the first case, I do it with the police ; in the 
other case, we do it together, and keep the police out of it. That’s 
why I want you to help me. You see, I like that plan best — so 
much less risky for you, you know. And it ain’t much I ask in 
return. ” 


212 


ALTIOliA FETO. 


“ What is it, aunty?” he replied; for Mr. Clymer was a man easily 
open to conviction, and with no prejudices. 

“Well, you’ve got to ship Polly off to America by the very first 
steamer as sails from Queenstown. There must be no goin’ up to 
London first, nor making explanations to folks. She’s just got to 
get up and go, and that’s all about it.” 

“But suppose she won’t?” 

“That’s just why I want you to come with me straight to her 
bedroom now. She’s got to — there ain’t no suppose about it. You 
see, Ned, if she says she won’t I should have to have both you and 
she taken up by the police on suspicion of bein’ intimate friends of 
Terence Dunleavy’s ; and they are on his track now ; they have his 
name and his address— Raggitt’s Hotel, if I don’t disremember. ” 

Ned made an uneasy attempt to laugh scornfully as he said, ‘ ‘ They 
are not likely to find him there.” 

“Maybe not; but I doubt whether Polly would care to be ques- 
tioned about when she saw Dunleavy last, and what business you 
and she did together, and when she was married, and when you 
were married again. They punish bigamy by transportation in 
this country,” said Hannah, whose notions of the law of domicile 
were hazy; and even Ned felt vaguely alarmed. “Bless you, you 
don’t, neither of you, want all the past and present of your lives 
raked up, as it’s bound to be, onst them police gets hold of you ! 
Then, to make it easier, you could promise her a few of them dol- 
lars if she would go over quietly without any fuss. I can make it 
up to you another way, Ned; but you must let me boss you through 
this business, if you want to come out at the right end at last.” 

“Go ahead, aunty! You’re an all-fired smart woman. I’ll follow 
your lead.” 

“Then here we go,” said Hannah, and she touched the bell. 

They were quickly shown to Mrs. Clymer’s bedroom, and Hannah 
entered it, leaving Ned to cool his heels in the passage, for the sake 
of propriety, but keeping him as a reserve force, to be used in case 
of need, and when the coast was clear. 

“ Polly,” said Hannah, throwing the light of the candle full upon 
the eyes of the sleeping beauty, and shaking her roughly, “come, 
wake up.” 

Mrs. Clymer started, rubbed her eyes, sat up, and stared in a be- 
wildered manner at the tall, ghostly-looking apparition before her. 

“ The police are after Terence Dunleavy, and if you don’t want 
to be took up you must make tracks at onst. To think,” pursued 
Hannah, with a confidence of assurance that seemed to paralyze 
Mrs. Clymer’s half -a wakened wits, “ after all that you have done to 


ALTIORA PETO. 


213 


the lord, of your havin’ the audacity to come and sleep under his 
very roof ! Why, it beats all ! Hurry up, if you want to escape; 
you ain’t got no time to lose.” 

It is probable that even in her coolest and most self-possessed mo- 
ments such an address would have staggered the adventuress; but 
taken unawares, scarcely able to distinguish between Hannah’s real 
presence and a horrid nightmare of her, Mrs. Clymer was thrown 
into a state of absolute terror. Conscious of having been the insti- 
gator of the crime, the most appalling consequences presented them- 
selves to her excited imagination; and Miss Coffin’s aspect, as she 
glared at her, like an avenging angel advanced in years, was not 
calculated to allay her fears. 

“Where am I?” she exclaimed, wildly, looking round. 

“ Where you didn’t ought to be, my dear. Come, hurry up, and 
get your duds on ; Ned’s outside waiting for you. You did not 
know that your husband, that helps people to blow up their ene- 
mies, married my niece before he married his other wives, or you 
wouldn’t ha’ been so offish when we first met over in Paris. He’s 
agreed to do what he can to help you to escape. My ! there’s steps ! 
I wonder if them’s the police?” and Hannah went to the door and 
looked out. Seeing all clear, she beckoned to Ned. “Now’s your 
time,” she said; “I’ve skeared her ’most out of her wits; she thinks 
the police are after her — and mind, Ned, a word from me, and they 
will be. I leave her to you now. When she’s dressed bring her to 
my room. It’s all safe yet, Polly,” she said, turning back to Mrs. 
Clymer, “but it won’t be long. Ned will wait outside, and when 
you’re dressed he’ll bring you to my room to say good-bye. I shall 
have a last word to say to you ;” and Hannah disappeared, leaving 
Mrs. Clymer in a turmoil of indignation, apprehension, and confu- 
sion, which had deprived her of the power of expressing her senti- 
ments of Miss Coffin’s conduct generally. In a few moments she 
opened the door. 

“Ned,” she said, “you can come in now. Is what that horrid 
woman said true?” 

“ True as gospel, Polly. I’m safe enough if you can be got away 
before you’re arrested. You are what naturalists call the missing 
link between me and Dunleavy— that’s why I’ve got to ship you otf, 
little girl; but I will give you something to grease the machinery of 
life with after you get to the other side. I don’t wonder now that 
you fainted when you heard your lord had been blown up, consider- 
ing the hand you seem to have had in it.” 

Whatever doubts the Clymer may have entertained as to imme- 
diate compliance with Hannah’s directions were dissipated by this 


214 


ALTIORA TETO. 


speech. Her conscience exaggerated the dangers of the situation, 
which had been painted by both Hannah and her husband in suf- 
ficiently appalling colors. She dressed in nervous haste, and ap- 
peared in Hannah’s little room with a promptitude which seemed 
to please the old lady. 

“ I’ve told ’em to get some coffee ready for you— leastways the doc- 
tor has. He’s quite a high-toned, nice kind of a man, Polly, and 
seems so anxious to get you off that he must kinder know what dan- 
ger you’re in. He says he was a-goin to send you off, anyways, by 
this train. We’ve been a-lookin’ at the papers, and there’s a steamer 
as leaves Queenstown this afternoon. Ned will take your passage 
and see you off comfortable. And you’d better stay in America till 
I write and tell you that it’s safe for you to come back again. Now, 
don’t you come back afore,” she continued, casting a withering 
glance upon her, “or it will be the worse for you. It’s old Hannah 
says it, and you’d better believe it. ” 

“Miss Coffin,” said Mrs. Clymer, whom this last remark stung 
into a retort, “ if I have been silent under your insults or accusa- 
tions, it is not because the first were deserved or the latter well- 
founded, but entirely owing to the false position in which I find my- 
self placed by the unexpected appearance of my husband in Ireland. 
Out of regard for him, as well as for my own character, I had al- 
ready decided, after assuring myself of the condition of Lord Sark, 
to proceed to America at once. My departure has, therefore, no 
reference to your threats or unjust accusations ; nor shall I be 
guided in my movements by anything you may see fit to write, but 
shall return to England whenever it suits me. In the mean time I 
trust that your combined schemes for entrapping an English noble- 
man as a husband for your Californian heiress may meet with the 
success which they deserve. I can only regret that she will have to 
wait so long for whatever may be left of him.” 

“I expect her here with Lady Adela this afternoon, to nurse 
him,” said Hannah, who had the satisfaction of seeing Mrs. Clymer 
wince under the information. “Take her away, Ned, and give her 
her breakfast, and never let me set eyes on her in this country 
again ; and when you’ve shipped her off just you come straight 
back here to me without losing an hour. ” 


ALT10RA PETO. 


215 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

THE PARTY AT KILLBOGGIN. 

It was not until Miss Coffin had assured herself that Mr. and 
Mrs. Clymer were safely off that she made her presence in the 
Castle known to Lord Sark. She had, indeed, been on her way to 
that nobleman’s room when she met her nephew, but his sudden 
appearance changed her intention; and she felt that she could do 
her host a greater service by sending the siren who had pursued 
him out of the country, than by any amount of personal attend- 
ance. Indeed, so cleverly had she managed the matter, that even 
Bob Alderney was ignorant that Mrs. Clymer had spent the night 
in the Castle. She now, under that gentleman’s guidance, went to 
his cousin’s bedside. “Lordy, my dear,” she whispered soothingly 
in his ear, as she sat down by him and took his hand in hers, “it’s 
old Hannah, come to nurse you till your sister comes.” 

He moved restlessly, and murmured * ‘ Thank you but she knew 
instinctively the questions which he had not strength to ask, and 
the cares which were agitating his mind. “There ain’t no cause 
for f rettin’ ; there’s many changes has been taking place this last 
twenty-four hours that you haven’t got strength to listen to now. 
Perhaps when Stella comes — she’ll be here with your sister this 
afternoon — she’ll explain ’em to you better than I can — many things 
as you mistook, through not understandin’ the natur’ of gells; but 
there ain’t a nobler gell breathing than Stella, no matter how she 
may cut up sometimes. Now, it’s old Hannah says so, my dear, 
who has known her for years, and you’d better believe it. And as 
for them other things as is a-pressin’ on your mind, I never seed the 
money trouble yet as there wasn’t a way out of, leastways in ’Mer- 
ika, and I guess it’s pretty much the same here. Bless you, they 
ain’t o’ no account. What you need is an easy mind and a belief 
in the unexpected. Providence can always make things turn up in 
a way nobody could ever ha’ foreseen. Now, there’s that Clymer 
packed off in a steamer for New York this afternoon, and it was 
old Hannah done it. That woman did a deal o’ mischief, but she 
won’t trouble you any more, Lordy: it was the devils in her, poor 
thing.” It was difficult to say what effect this curious speech had 
upon Lord Sark’s mind, as his eyes were hidden by the bandages, 
and his whole face swathed in a manner which concealed its ex- 


216 


ALTIORA VETO. 


pression; but after a moment his hand opened eagerly, and when 
she placed hers in it he raised it to his lips, which seemed to be all 
the response the old lady required, for her eyes glistened with tears 
as she returned the pressure. “There was a man did that to me 
onst before, ” she murmured, looking with an analytical expression 
at the spot on her hand which Sark’s lips had touched. “ It must 
be a matter of fifty years ago now. If anybody had told me then 
that I would have let that place be kissed again by a man, and an 
English lord at that, and have liked it, I should have said, ‘My 
dear, you don’t know the natur of Hannah Coffin.’ Lord forgive 
us! it’s little we any of us know of ourselves or of each other, and 
of his wonderful dealings who can make things happen in a way as 
no imagination could ha’ pictured and as her mind again reverted 
to her newly-found niece she sank into a reverie, from which she 
was only aroused by the entry of the nurse. 

In the evening Lady Adela, Stella, and Mattie, in charge of Lord 
St. Olave, arrived, and were cheered by the doctor’s report that 
the patient had made remarkable progress during the afternoon. 
Whether this was due to Hannah’s moral treatment, or to their own 
medicaments, will never be known ; but the news of their arrival 
still farther contributed to relieve the mental suffering under which 
Lord Sark was laboring almost as much as from his wounds. 

“Stella,” said Mattie, that evening, when they were both sitting 
with Hannah in the little boudoir which had been appropriated to 
the latter, “what was the last address you gave Mr. Murkle?” 

“I left a letter for him at Dublin, requesting him to go to Lon- 
donderry and wait there till he received a telegram, which I w T ould 
address to him at the post-office, telling him the day of our arrival, 
when I proposed that he should accompany us on a trip to the 
Giant’s Causeway. It’s rather a cold expedition for the depth of 
the winter, but to the American tourist or the Cockney lover noth- 
ing is impossible.” 

“ Oh, Stella, what a ridiculous journey to send the poor man 
upon, when we haven’t the slightest intention of going near the 
Giant’s Causeway!” 

“Telegraph him to come here at onst, Stella,” said Hannah. 

“To come here, Hannah! What on earth should we do with 
him here?” 

“ That’s just what I want to show you when he comes,” rejoined 
Miss Coffin. “Just you bring him here, and then leave him to me; 
and don’t lose a moment,” said the old lady, rubbing her hands, in 
anticipation of that event. “There’ll be no call for you to see him 
if you don’t want to.” 


ALTIORA PETO. 


217 


It was so very unlike Miss Coffin to give a decided direction of 
this sort without a very good reason for it, that Stella did not ven- 
ture on any farther remonstrance. 

“ How shall I word it, Hannah?” said that young lady, taking a 
form— without a supply of which she never travelled— from her 
travelling-bag. 

“ Put it very strong, my dearie— like a gell would to her lover— so 
as it may be quite sure to fetch him.” 

“Will this do? — 

“ ‘ Your presence here without delay essential. Our joint happi- 
ness at stake. Reply. Stella.’” 

“And that’s true,” said Hannah. “We’d best send Bobby with 
it to the telegraph-office. Mattie, you take charge of all that.” 

When that young lady returned from her mission she had a let- 
ter in her hand. “From Altiora,” she said, and eagerly opened it. 

‘ ‘ Why, Stella, Altiora says that when the baroness went to call on 
Mrs. Clymer in London she found that she had left town for Ire- 
land! I wonder where she is, and what mischief she is contriving?” 

“ I wonder !” remarked Hannah, dryly. Her tone of voice ar- 
rested the attention of both girls, who looked up quickly at her. 

“ Oh, Hannah, you know something, and you won’t tell us ! 
How mysterious you have become, with your telegrams to Murkle, 
and your wonderings about the Clymer!” 

“It ain’t time to tell you yet all I know, my dears. I suppose 
you’ll be answering that letter to-morrow, Mattie : just tell the 
darling that she ain’t a-goin’ to be left alone in London with that 
mother of hers many days longer, but I am a-comin’ to her right 
away, as soon as I’ve settled with this Murkle ; but you needn’t say 
anything about him. And, say! just leave me some paper; I want 
to write to Keithy. And now I am too tired to have you a-settin’ 
here any longer. Good-night, my dearies.” And the two girls, 
knowing from experience that when Hannah was in an impenetra- 
ble mood it was useless to attempt to read her riddles, took their 
departure, full of speculation as to the cause of the mystery which 
had suddenly enveloped her conduct. 

Mr. Murkle, when he received Stella’s telegram at Derry, was by 
no means in an amiable frame of mind. He had flown from Lon- 
don on the wings of love, with his pocket full of documents setting 
forth his pecuniary value, and his heart full of hope, but to find, on 
arriving at Copleydale, that the nest was empty, and that, as his 
only consolation, Stella had left a rather coldly-worded note, saying 
that she and her sister and Miss Coffin had suddenly decided on 


218 


ALTIORA PETO. 


making a tour in Ireland, and that she hoped he would meet her 
in Dublin ; and she enclosed the name of the hotel. This eccentric 
conduct roused his suspicions, and he was half inclined to return to 
London; but he felt that due allowances should be made for the 
caprices of an heiress and a beauty. He reflected that the prize 
was a large one, and worth a little trouble ; and he registered a men- 
tal resolution to pay Stella back for all the anxiety and inconve- 
nience to which he was now subjected, by a pretty severe exercise 
of marital authority when he once secured her as his wife. At 
Dublin he was infuriated by having a letter put into his hand, in 
which Stella, with a clever frankness, admitted that she and her 
sister had been persuaded by Lady Adela Dashington to accompany 
her to her wounded brother’s estate; but that the visit would prob- 
ably only last a couple of days, when they intended to go on a trip 
to the north of Ireland, and hoped for his company on the occasion. 
This letter, as it made a great demand upon his credulity, was affec- 
tionately worded; and when once he had cooled off from the anger 
caused by his first disappointment he felt consoled by the evidence 
it seemed to afford of Miss Walton’s sincerity in wishing to carry 
out her engagement with him, in spite of the difficulties which an 
accidental combination of circumstances had opposed to their meet- 
ing. That she should actually propose to leave the house of his 
rival to travel in his company was, moreover, doubly flattering to 
his vanity. So he hastened to Derry, internally anathematizing the 
love of sight-seeing which could have prompted the journey at such 
a time of year. He had no sooner arrived at his journey’s end than 
he found waiting for him the telegram which we have seen de- 
spatched, and which did not improve his already ruffled temper. 
A journey more or less, however, now made but little difference; 
he was rather glad of the excuse of paying the castle in which its 
owner was lying wounded a visit at such a time, and, of course, could 
place no other construction upon the words of the message than that 
he might consider the matter arranged, and his bride — and, what 
was more important, her fortune— secured. His journey from Derry 
to Killboggin was therefore made in a more sanguine and self-sat- 
isfied frame of mind even than that from London to Copleydale. 

“Mr. Murkle will arrive this afternoon,” said Stella to Hannah, 
coming into her room the following morning with a telegram in her 
hand. “Now that he is coming, in obedience to your wishes, and 
not mine, you must tell me what you wish me to say to him.” 

“I think that as your love affair seems to be kinder conducted 
on business principles, whatever passes should be in the presence 
of two witnesses,” replied Hannah, with a chuckle. 


ALTIORA PETO. 


219 


“That means, I suppose, that you wish me to tell him the real 
state of the case as regards Mattie and myself in the presence of you 
and her; but I am afraid that will only have the effect of making 
him mad, and driving him straight off to Altiora, and persecuting 
the poor girl, with his threats of disclosing some horrible secret, 
into marrying him.” 

“You ain’t got no call to be feared about Altiora, my dear. As 
soon as you’ve done with this Murkle I’m a-going to take him up 
to London myself,” said Hannah, talking of him as if he were a 
brown-paper parcel or a poodle. 

“ What, go up with that creature alone!” exclaimed Stella. 

“ Why not, my dearie? You’ve got Lordy to look after, and Mat- 
tie has got Bobby, and I’ve got this Murkle to tend to. We’ve each 
got our duty to do ‘in that state of life — ’ I disremember exactly 
how it goes on, being in the Episcopal Catechism, that I haven’t 
looked at since I was a gell. Besides, I sha’n’t be alone with him.” 

“ Why, who will go with you, Hannah?” 

“Well, I’m expectin’ a gentleman from Cork in an hour or two. 
He’s a-sorter related to me. Don’t you ask no more questions now, 
dearie; let me play this game out o’ my own hand. You’ll under- 
stand a good deal more when you hear what I have to say to this 
Murkle. ” 

* ‘ But have you told Lady Adela that two gentlemen are to arrive 
here to-day — one to see me, and the other to see you — and who those 
gentlemen are? We must remember we are in England, Hannah; 
and we cannot be having our friends or our enemies come to see us 
in a wounded nobleman’s castle without telling people what we’re 
about. It’s a funny thing us three Americans being here, anyway. ” 

“Well, I never was in a wounded nobleman’s castle before, and 
I don’t know rightly what their manners and customs is. You go 
and explain it to the lady. You ain’t seen Lordy yet, have you?” 

“No; Lady Adela seemed to think it would be better for me to 
wait a little. I suppose she does not think it quite proper; but I’m 
sure there’s no nurse could do him so much good, if you come to 
that,” added Stella, with a pout. “I think it would be far more 
proper than for her and Lord St. Olave to nurse him between them, 
as they do now.” 

“Well, my dearie, you must just have patience; them’s all part 
of the manners and customs in wounded noblemen’s castles. Now 
you just go and tell her about Murkle and the other.” 

“What’s the name of the other?” 

“Well, you may call him Collings; ’tain’t his real name, but it’s 
the name the doctor knows him by. He was here before; and you 


220 


ALTIORA PETO. 


may say he is related to me, and it’s very important I should see 
him and Murkle together. Tell her I won’t keep ’em long here, 
and then we calculate on goin’ dp to London together. ” 

Lady Adela w r as too good-natured to offer any objection, and too 
absorbed by her cares to allow her curiosity to be excited by Stella’s 
request. Two or three hours after, as Bob and Mattie and Stella 
were discussing the problem which Hannah’s conduct suggested, 
and Bob was narrating his previous experience of the gentleman 
she had introduced to him as her niece’s husband, and whom he 
had seen peacefully slumbering in her sitting-room, a jaunting-car 
appeared in the avenue, containing two gentlemen, who, on their 
nearer approach, were recognized to be none other than Mr. Murkle 
and Mr. Codings. 

“Curious their arriving together,” said Bob; “they must have 
met at the junction, and come on by the same train. I wish Han- 
nah would let me assist at the scene as a third witness. Let him 
down easy, Stella.” 

“Bob,” said Mattie, “mark my words — the day that Stella lets 
down Mr. Murkle easily will find you hoisted up far more violently 
than you can possibly imagine ;” with which singular remark, and 
a saucy toss of her head, the young lady and her friend took their 
departure. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

MR. MURKLE FEELS THAT HE IS A VICTIM. 

Stella and Mattie met a servant in the hall with Mr. Murkle ’s 
card. 

“Show him into the library,” she said. “Now, Mattie, let us 
first go to Hannah’s room, and see what this relative of hers is 
like.” 

“This is Mr. Codings, my dears; you’ll know his real name in a 
few minutes, maybe,” said Hannah. “Edward, these two young 
ladies and me have some particular business with that gentleman as 
you come along with from the station. If you’ll just kindly wait 
here I’ll send for you when I want you. I’ll leave him to you, to 
begin with, Stella, and pick him up where you drop him,” she add- 
ed, as they left the room. 

Murkle had been pacing the library in the frame of mind charac- 
teristic of the impatient lover who has at last succeeded in surmount- 
ing ad intervening obstacles, and needs only the impress of the first 
chaste salute to seal the long-anticipated bliss. His doubts were at 


A L T10H A PETO . 


221 


an end. That allusion in the telegram to their “joint happiness” 
warranted him in taking the fair creature to his arms the moment 
he saw her, and pressing her to his heart. Every sound he heard 
set that organ beating violently ; and his excitement was augmented 
by the calculations which seemed to intertwine themselves with his 
tenderer sentiments when he attempted to estimate in imagination 
her possible pecuniary value. Ever since he left London he had 
been a prey to the emotions of love and of speculation alternating, 
as it were, within his breast. At the moment when Stella’s coldness 
and caprice would damp the ardor of his flame the thought of the 
fortune which he might lose by yielding to the influence of pique 
arose to check his resentment. “If it wasn’t for her money,” he 
muttered each time he took a new departure in his pursuit, “ I would 
not follow the baggage another yard.” But now that he had run to 
earth the money and its fair possessor in the very stronghold of his 
rival, his sense of triumph was complete, and his arrogance grew in 
proportion as he felt that the victory was won, since it only depend- 
ed upon his presence here to secure the happiness which was other- 
wise at stake. It puzzled him occasionally to think how it could 
have become imperilled ; but he was too self-confident to feel much 
anxiety on the subject. “If worse comes to the worst, I can always 
run away with her,” he said to himself; and just as he arrived at 
this decision the door opened, and Stella, followed by Hannah and 
Mattie, appeared. 

“Dear Mr. Murkle!” said the young lady, running forward, with 
a little joyous exclamation, and both hands extended, “how good 
of you to come! What devotion you have shown in careering all 
over Ireland after me ! You know I was bound to test it. You are 
not angry with me?” By this time he was holding both her unre- 
sisting hands, and she was looking appealingly in his face. 

“Hang those other two women!” he thought, as he gently drew 
her toward him; “ I think I’ll risk a kiss in spite of them.” 

“No, no,” she said, laughing, and gently disengaging herself as 
she detected his intention— “ not yet. I am not a prude,” she add- 
ed, looking frankly straight into his eyes, “and I like being kissed 
by the right person, and at the right time and place, as well as any- 
body; but we have met here on business, and you remember the old 
proverb, ‘Business first, and pleasure afterward.’ It was for the 
business part I brought my two witnesses; when that is finished I 
will send the witnesses away.” 

“As you please,” said Murkle. “I am your obedient slave, as 
you must have perceived from the way I have been following you 
all over the country at your behest. May I ask what is the danger 


222 


ALTIORA PETO. 


which threatens our joint happiness, and which induced you to 
summon me here so urgently?” 

“ Miss Coffin will tell you that as soon as our business matters are 
settled,” she replied, with a happy inspiration, looking toward that 
lady, who nodded emphatically, her lips tightly compressed. ‘ ‘ Have 
you brought the papers?” 

“Yes, here they are;” and Murkle pulled a roll from his pocket, 
and attempted to smile amiably, though he felt a good deal irritated. 

“ I was so glad to learn from dear Altiora,” remarked Stella, who 
detected his suppressed impatience, ■ ‘ what a sweet and equable tem- 
per you had. Nothing ever puts you out, does it?” and she slipped 
off the elastic hand, and glanced her eye over the lines of figures and 
their total amounts. “You mean me to keep these, of course; they 
seem quite satisfactory, but I should like to look through them at 
my leisure. ” 

“They are most strictly private — confidential,” he observed, 
somewhat alarmed. 

* ‘ I quite understand, and I will not show them to my lawyer 
without first telling you. Now, Mr. Murkle, if you will kindly ex- 
change documents — here is the list of all the property I possess in 
the world.” 

“I assure you it is quite unnecessary; I could not think of look- 
ing at it,” he replied, anxious to show his indifference to money 
considerations, though he was longing to know the amount of the 
total. “I beg you, my dear Miss Walton, to keep the paper till 
after our marriage— it will be quite time enough. You have only 
to specify the amount you wish settled on yourself,” he added, in a 
fit of generosity. 

‘ ‘ That is easily stated, ” she replied, laughing. * * If you will only 
glance at that paper you will see that I cannot ask for a larger set- 
tlement out of my own money than ten thousand dollars. ” 

Murkle, whose curiosity was excited as much as his mind was 
relieved by this piece of information, took the paper and read: 

“ Total Amount of the Personal Property of Mattie Terrill. 


New York Central Railway stock $5,000 

Toledo and Wabash Railway stock 5,000 


Total $10,000 

Real estate Nil.” 


“This is a statement of Miss Terrill’s property,” he said, turning 
to Mattie; “you have handed me the wrong paper by mistake.” 
“No, Mr. Murkle,” said Mattie; “I feel sure it will make no dif- 


ALT 10 R A PETO. 


223 


ference in your sentiments as regards my friend if I tell you tliat 
I am the real heiress, and that my name is Stella Walton. We 
changed names when we came to Europe, because I have always 
had a great horror of being married for my fortune and not for 
myself. My friend, with her beauty and her talent, is a prize in 
herself, which I am not,” she continued, modestly; “and she would 
doubtless have revealed her identity to you sooner had she felt that 
there was the slightest danger of your being influenced by merce- 
nary considerations. It was her confidence in ’your disinterested- 
ness which has induced her to give you this opportunity of prov- 
ing it.” 

It was some moments before Mr. Murkle, who was too stunned 
and bewildered to find words to express the tumult of his feelings, 
could reply. His first clear perception of the situation was, that he 
had designedly been made a fool of by the false heiress — whom, to 
save confusion, I shall continue to call Stella — from the beginning; 
and his wounded vanity, adding fire, as it were, to the keenness of 
his disappointment, threw him into a paroxysm of rage. 

“Miss Walton or Terrill, or whatever other alias it may please 
you to assume,” he said, rising and addressing Stella, his lips white 
with passion, ‘ ‘ in withdrawing from the position I have hitherto 
occupied toward you I wish you to understand that I do so, not be- 
cause you are a pauper — had I known you to have been one from 
the beginning, I might have still sought your hand — but because 
you are a cheat ; because you have heartlessly trifled with affections 
which have been pure and disinterested, whatever you may think to 
the contrary ; because you have deliberately chosen me as a subject 
of sport, and have turned into ridicule the most sacred emotions of 
my nature. But I am not one upon whom practical jokes of this 
kind can be played with impunity; nor does the law of this coun- 
try, as you will find to your cost, permit people to assume false 
names, forge checks, and otherwise impose upon society without 
risk.” 

“ Now, that’s just the pint you know more about than most peo- 
ple, maybe, is that matter about takin’ up false names, and imposin’ 
on society under ’em,” interrupted Hannah. “Mattie, just ask the 
gentleman in my room to be so good as step this way. You didn’t 
happen to be acquainted with the late Mrs. Peto, did you?— Altiora’s 
real mother, I mean, not that baroness as imposes upon society as 
her mother. Take time, and don’t get flurried; you ain’t bound to 
criminate yourself, as the lawyers say. We can get at it all another 
way; only you might save yourself, don’t you see, by bein’ the first 
to tell your own story. Maybe you was a victim of a designin’ 


224 


ALT I OR A PETO. 


woman — same as you are now, you know. You seem a poor kind 
of a crittur, anyway,” she concluded, as she looked at his white 
cheeks and trembling hands and lips, contemptuously. 

‘ ‘ I don’t know anything — ” began Murkle. 

“ There, there, "tain’t no use a-lyin’. You was with Grandesella 
in Italy at the time the baroness was a-livin’ with Mrs. Peto as her 
companion, when Altiora was born after her husband’s death, be- 
cause you told me once you’d known Altiora ever since she was a 
baby, and know’d her father; so it ain’t no good a-tryin’ to wriggle 
out of it. You know that the baroness ain’t Altiora’s mother just 
as well as she does herself, or you wouldn’t always be a -boldin’ 
threats of secrets you can tell over her. Now, this gentleman, he 
saw Mrs. Peto and Altiora in Italy when the baroness was a-livin’ 
with Mrs. Peto as a friend, and there ain’t no difficulty abbut 
provin’ the child’s birth nor the mother’s death; and there wouldn’t 
be none in showin’ what hand you had in helpin’ to deceive the 
executors and bankers, and such-like, by keepin’ Mrs. Peto’s death 
a secret, and passin’ off the baroness for her. We’ve only got to 
set to work to examine into it all; but you might save us all that 
trouble, don’t you see, and no one need know what you’ve bin and 
done, if you give a clear story of what the baron and the baroness 
did, so as I can get a holt of ’em. Look here, you Murkle,” said 
the old lady, suddenly starting up and advancing toward him with 
such menacing vehemence that he shrank back till his chair nearly 
tipped over: “that dead woman — murdered, maybe — was my sister; 
and the gell’s my niece, and I’m a-goin > to get her back to where 
she belongs, if there’s necks got to wring for it. Now, it’s old Han- 
nah says so, and you’d better believe it.” 

Murkle, during this energetic tirade, had been rapidly turning 
over in his mind the dangers of the position in which he now found 
himself involved. He saw before him a determined and enterpris- 
ing group of women, whom he knew, from experience, were not to 
be trifled with in matters where intelligence and resolution were 
concerned, who possessed almost boundless financial resources, who 
were in possession of a most dangerous witness, and who had only 
to make inquiries on the spot to expose the whole fraud which the 
adventurers had so boldly perpetrated nearly twenty years before. 
They had calculated, and not without reason, that, provided they 
could satisfy the representatives of Mr. Peto that the baroness was 
his widow, the secret of the real widow’s death could easily be pre- 
served, so far as the obscure Italian village in which she was buried 
was concerned. The familiarity of the baroness — then Mrs. Crom- 
bie — with the private correspondence of Mrs. Peto, for whom she 


ALTIORA TETO. 


225 


used to act as secretary, rendered it easy for her to continue writing 
as Mrs. Peto, after the death of that lady, to her man of business, 
and thus, with the assistance and co-operation of the baron and 
Murkle, to retain possession of Mr. Peto’s fortune, which had been 
left unreservedly to his widow. No sooner did it become clear to 
Murkle that the game was up — to use his own expression — than he 
perceived the advantages of the course suggested by Hannah of pro- 
viding for his own safety with that lady on the best terms he could 
make with her, regardless of any fate which might befall his part- 
ners and accomplices. 

“It’s quite true,” he said, after a pause; “the baroness is not 
Altiora’s mother. I was only a clerk in the house at the time that 
the baron and Mrs. Crombie, as she was then, conceived the scheme 
of acquiring Mr. Peto’s fortune. I made the great mistake of my 
life in not at once resigning my position and retiring from the firm 
when I discovered their designs. They made me a partner to keep 
me silent ; and I admit my complicity only to this extent, that, 
knowing that a great wrong had been done to Altiora, I did not 
expose it. ” 

“ Instead of trying to force her to marry you for the purpose of 
getting her money, should you fail in obtaining what you thought 
was mine,” said Stella. “And you dare to talk of my having trifled 
with what you are pleased to term your affections!” 

“Let the poor crittur be,” said Hannah; “he ain’t got no sting 
left in him worth a cent. Mr. Murkle, this is Mr. Clymer, Mrs. 
Clymer’s husband — that is, he was. He passed by the name of 
Pol lin gs to save his wife’s character so long as she was in the coun- 
try; but now she’s gone to the States it don’t much matter what 
you call him. Him and you has got to come with me to London. 
I guess we’d better start to - night. Ned, you take charge of him 
while I go and see how Lordy is, and tell the lady that I am a-goin’ 
away for a spell.” 

After a consultation with Lady Adela, to whom Hannah confided 
what had just transpired, it was decided that the news was likely 
to prove so agreeable to Lord Sark that she was to tell him of it ; 
and it was arranged that Altiora was to accompany Hannah on her 
return to Killboggin. The fact that Grandesella and Murkle were 
for the future rendered powerless, so far as any interference in his 
financial affairs was concerned, was evidently no less a relief to 
Lord Sark than the intelligence that Altiora was in no way related 
to the baron and his wife, and that she would probably shortly be 
placed in possession of her own fortune. ‘ ‘ I have Keithy in Lon- 
don a-waitin’ to help me,” she said; “ and, Lordy, don’t you be any- 

15 


226 


ALT10RA PETO. 


ways anxious about your cousin — it’s my opinion that she couldn’t 
have a friend more able nor willing to help her than Keithy, and 
none as she would sooner be helped by. What is it you say ?” and 
she leaned down to catch his whisper. “Bring ’em both back with 
me? Yes, that I will, sure. Now, you keep up a good heart. I 
tell you that the way that Stella has played that Murkle for the last 
two months, to save Altiora from him, and then made him run all 
over Ireland after her, and then got him snarled up here at last, with 
Ned Clymer a-keepin’ watch over him, shows that she’s as clever 
with her head as she is lovin’ with her heart; and” — bending down 
very low, she added, in a whisper — “I know who it is that’s got her 
heart with which comfortable assurance Hannah gave his lord- 
ship’s sound hand a squeeze, and was gone. 

That night, after Hannah and Murkle and Ned Ctymer had started 
for London, Stella went into Mattie’s room, and found that young 
lady softly sobbing. 

“ Why, Mattie darling, what’s the matter?” 

“Bo — ob — ” she sighed, with a gulp. 

“ Well, what about Bob?” 

“ How am I ever to break it to him, Stella?” 

“ Break what to him?” 

“Why, that I’ve got nearly five millions of dod — dod — dollars,” 
with a long series of catching sobs. 

“ Then let me break it to him.” 

“No, no; I am sure he will run away when he hears it, and I 
shall never see him again. He’s set his heart on our both living on 
a pound a day.” 

“Well, so you can, dear. You needn’t spend more than you 
like.” 

“No; but I know that he will talk about his honor, and say it is 
impossible, and — and — that I’ve deceived him. It was only the 
other day he was saying how lucky it was that you were the heiress 
and not me, as he never would have proposed to me if I had been 
richer than he was. And I said it was awfully lucky. Oh, Stella, 
what a lie we’ve both been living! It seems as if I never had been 
Stella, and as if you had never been Mattie.” 

“Well, dear, don’t let us confuse our heads or our hearts any 
more just now with our own identity. Bob will like you just as 
much by either name, I’m sure; but there’s no occasion to let him 
into the secret just yet. Let’s wait till Hannah and Altiora come, at 
any rate, and then we’ll have a regular good time. Remember how 
much better off you are than I am. You can see Bob at any time; 
but I am shut off from my poor darling, who thinks I have behaved 


ALTIORA PETO. 


227 


so cruelly to him. Besides, who knows, when I have to break to 
him that you are the heiress and not me, whether I may not be in 
as bad a fix as you? Do you think it possible, Mattie,” said Stella, 
in a sudden paroxysm of alarm, “that we may both lose our loves 
through having changed places? What a dreadful punishment it 
would be!” 

“Oh, don’t, Stella!” 

“Don’t what?” 

“Suggest such horrid things,” said Mattie, illogically. “I’ve a 
good mind really to change, and give you all my fortune. I never 
thought of that ; we can make it quite safe that way. ” 

‘ ‘ W e’ll try the other first, dear, ” responded Stella, dryly. ‘ ‘ Mean- 
time, I have been too full of Hannah’s happiness in this wonderful 
discovery of her newly-found niece to conjure up imaginary sor- 
rows. Now kiss me good-night.” 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

THE BARON AND BARONESS SUCCUMB TO CIRCUMSTANCES. 

“Say, Murkle,” said Hannah, who had ceased to think that gen- 
tleman worth the compliment of adding “Mr.” to his name, as they 
were gliding into the London terminus, “what’s the best time to 
catch them two conspirators together?” 

“The probability is, that we shall find them this evening, if we 
go there as soon as we have had something to eat,” he replied. 

“Well, you know what you’re a-goin’ to say. You’ve been a 
poor, deluded victim all through, as wants to clear your conscience 
by turnin’ State’s evidence, or whatever they call it here; and your 
conscience is a-troubling you so much you can’t a-bear it any longer 
— knowing that if you did I’ve other witnesses as could send you to 
prison. Just you stick to that, and whatever I say you agree to, or 
it will be the worse for you.” 

The baron and baroness had been dining at home, and he was 
just starting for his club, when the cab containing Miss Coffin, Mr. 
Murkle, and Ned Clymer drove up to his door. 

“Ah, Dick, mio caro!” he exclaimed, as Murkle jumped out and 
handed out Miss Coffin, “whom have we here? What a delightful 
surprise!” he added, turning with effusion to Hannah. 

“Guess you’re a-goin’ to find it so,” she murmured; but the baron 
did not hear her, and went on : 

‘ ‘ And the two lovely young ladies — I hope they have returned to 


228 


ALTIORA PETO. 


London? What a pleasure for my Altiora, who has been longing to 
see them again! Present me, pray;” for by this time Mr. Clymer 
was standing on the baron’s door-step with the rest of the party. 

‘ ‘ This is Mr. Clymer, my nephew by his first marriage, as come 
over to send his present wife, the baroness’s great friend, you know, 
back to ’Merika.” 

“Dear me, how interesting! How charmed the baroness will be 
to make his acquaintance! Pray let me show you the way up- 
stairs,” and the baron led the party — whose mixed composition con- 
siderably puzzled him, and caused him a vague feeling of uneasi- 
ness, which he was at a loss to account for — toward the drawing- 
room. “Where have you all sprung from?” he pursued, hoping to 
solve the mystery. 

“Lord Sark’s castle — I disremember the name of it — was where 
we all started from yesterday, if you mean that, ” replied Hannah ; 
and the baron was more profoundly perplexed than ever as he 
ushered them into the presence of his wife and step-daughter. 
Altiora, seeing so unexpected an apparition, jumped up, and, with 
an exclamation of delighted surprise, flung herself into Hannah’s 
arms. 

“There, my darling!” whispered the latter, as she returned her 
embrace with equal ardor, “you slip out; I’ve got something very 
particular to say to the baron and baroness as you’ll hear about 
later. “This is Mr. Clymer,” she added, after bowing stiffly to the 
baroness, ‘ ‘ as has come to tell you that he has packed his wife, your 
friend, off to the States; and he’s got some other business to talk 
over besides;” and she nodded to Altiora, who left the room. 

The baron felt much relieved; it was evident that the visit related 
entirely to Mrs. Clymer’s affairs. His wife received Mr. Clymer with 
great cordiality, and said she would be so interested to hear the last 
news of her dear friend. 

“You can tell the baroness that afterward, Ned; let us get to busi- 
ness first,” interposed Hannah. “Before you was the baroness you 
was Mrs. Crombie, wasn’t you?” 

“I was,” said the baroness, coldly; “but I do not know by what 
right you have come here to ask me these questions.” 

“Oh, you needn’t answer any of ’em you don’t like; it’s out of 
nothing but wantin’ to save you havin’ a rough time as I’ve come. 
When you was Mrs. Crombie you lived at an old castle in Italy with 
Mr. and Mrs. Peto, as Mrs. Peto’s companion, didn’t you?” 

“Go on,” said the baroness, showing symptoms of nervousness, 
which she concealed beneath a haughty sneer. 

“Oh, don’t be in a hurry; I am a-goin’ faster nor you’ll like, may- 


ALT I OR A VETO. 


229 


be. When Mrs. Peto, who was my niece, died, or you poisoned her 
—I’ve got to find that out yet— you stole her name, and her daugh- 
ter, and her fortune, with the help of the baron there and this Murkle, 
and you’ve kept ’em ever since? Ain’t that so? You’ve no call to 
answer if you ain’t a mind to.” 

The brutal directness of this charge, every word of which issued 
from Hannah’s pinched lips like pellets from a pop^gun, caused the 
blood to ebb from the heart of the baroness, and for a second she 
seemed to lose consciousness. It was only by the most powerful 
effort of will that she prevented herself from fainting. The baron 
felt his courage oozing from his pores and standing on his forehead 
in beads. 

“It’s a false, vile, atrocious calumny!” the baroness almost shrieked 
at last. It seemed to her that it was only by raising her voice to a 
scream that she could use it at all. 

“Well, there’s Ned here : he saw his wife’s aunt — that is, my 
sister Fanny — when Altiora was about four months old, and she 
told him it was her baby as she was a-goin’ to bring to ’Merika 
when she got a little better, and how you was her companion, and 
wasn’t well the night he slept at the Castle ; and there’s this Murkle, 
he’s ready to swear in a court of justice exactly how you and the 
baron and he did it all — imposed upon the lawyers and bankers, 
and forged my poor Fanny’s name, and all that. ’Tain’t no use 
a-screeching like that. I’ve come to talk business. This game’s 
played out — there ain’t no two ways about it. Now, it’s old Han- 
nah says so, and you’d better believe it. Ain’t that so, Murkle?” 

“Well,” said the gentleman thus appealed to, “I am bound to 
say, my dear friends, that I have come to the conclusion, if you 
force Miss Coffin to carry this matter to a court of justice, to turn 
Queen’s evidence. I have assured her that her suspicions in regard 
to the circumstances of her niece’s death are entirely unfounded — 
the poor lady died from natural causes. Still, though it would be 
impossible to prove the reverse, it would be disagreeable to have a 
charge of murder added to the fraud, forgery, and false personation, 
which certainly can be proved, whether I give evidence or no. I 
therefore strongly recommend you both, for all our sakes, to see 
whether it would not be possible to compromise this unfortunate 
affair. I am in a position to say that Miss Coffin is prepared to 
offer certain conditions, on the acceptance of which she will not 
press the matter criminally.” 

“ That’s so. You put that well, Murkle,” remarked Hannah, ap- 
provingly. 

During all this time the baron remained perfectly silent, softly 


230 


ALT 10 R A PETO. 


drumming with, his fingers on the table, and occasionally wiping his 
forehead with his handkerchief. The baroness was breathing quick 
and hard, as though in imminent danger of going into a fit; though 
her lips moved as if in an attempt to speak, no sound issued from 
them. 

“ I ain’t a-goin’ back,” pursued Hannah, “on your treatment of 
that darling you call your daughter, nor the lies you and this Murkle 
made up against the character of her poor dear dead father, because 
I am a-goin’ to take- her away with me in the cab that’s waitin’ at the 
door ; and once she’s with me, she’ll soon forget you and what she 
suffered with you ; but I must have every cent of my girl’s money — 
and you and this Murkle have made enough out of it to pay it all 
back to her, and more too — and after that maybe you’ll find it best 
to leave the country and live abroad; because if you stay here it 
will have to be known that you never was her mother, and the thing 
can’t be kept quiet; but if you stay away in other countries people 
will forget all about you, and neither me nor Altiora will talk about 
our family affairs. When would you propose to start?” she asked, 
after a pause, turning suddenly upon the baron. 

“ Really, my dear lady, the whole thing is so sudden, you must 
allow me a little time to think it over.” 

“Well, I’ll leave you alone to put your heads together, while I 
go and get my darling ready to come along with me. Say! you,” 
she said, turning to the baroness, “just come and show me the 
room. ” 

The baroness, perceiving that her husband had decided not to at- 
tempt resistance to the overpowering force of circumstances, com- 
plied without a word. On her return the triumvirate retired to a 
corner to consider the situation, and Clymer became absorbed in the 
evening paper. Meantime Hannah had delighted Altiora’s heart by 
telling her that she was to leave the house with her at once. 

“There ain’t no occasion for you to do more than throw a few 
things together now, honey, and we’ll send for everything else that 
belongs to you to-morrow; for you’re never a-goin’ back to that 
woman, that isn’t your mother, again, but you’re a-goin’ to live with 
old Hannah just as long as ever you’ve a mind to. ’Tain’t time to 
explain it to you all now, but you need never be afraid of having to 
marry that Murkle, nor bein’ handed over to the Clymer, who’s gone 
back to the States. Day after to-morrow, if all’s settled, you’ll come 
along with me to Lordy’s castle in Ireland, where Mattie and Stella 
are.” 

Altiora listened to this somewhat disconnected account of the new 
aspect her affairs were assuming with an amazement which almost 


ALTIORA PETO. 231 

amounted to stupefaction, and mechanically made her preparations 
for accompanying Hannah. 

“I expect Keithy will be waitin’ for us when we get back to the 
hotel,” she went on; “he’s got to settle all the business part of this 
matter. Now I’m a-goin’ down-stairs again. You can put on your 
bonnet and follow me to the sittin’-room as soon as you’re ready.” 

The baron advanced as she entered. “My dear lady,” said that 
worthy, “the baroness and I appreciate your generosity. Perhaps, 
had the prime instigator of this unfortunate transaction not shown 
such willingness to betray the victims who were tempted by him to 
commit this irregularity, the baroness and myself might have as- 
sumed another attitude in this unhappy business. However, we 
recognize the strength of your position, and are prepared frankly to 
accept your terms, on condition that the whole subject be buried in 
the most profound secrecy. The baroness and I will take up our 
residence in Paris or Home. The fortune left to Altiora by Mr. Peto 
shall be restored to her in full, and with its payment all farther 
connection between myself and the man by whom we have been so 
grossly betrayed ceases,” and he looked savagely at Murkle. “As 
soon as ever the business part of this matter is settled we shall take 
our departure. I need not say that I shall take leave of my dearest 
Altiora, toward whom I ever felt the affection of a parent, with the 
most profound emotion.” 

“I’ll send Mr. Hetherington here the first thing in the morning to 
go into the whole matter; guess he’s smart enough to see you don’t 
act no ways crooked.” 

‘ * Ah, here comes my little Ora ! Good - bye, mrissima mia, for 
the last time!” exclaimed the baron, and opened his arms with ef- 
fusion. 

“Good-bye, mamma,” said Altiora, after receiving the baron’s 
salute. 

“ Altiora,” broke in Hannah, sternly, “never you go to use that 
word to that woman again; and don’t go wasting your feelings upon 
her, honey — she ain’t wuth it.” 

For Altiora, overcome by the suddenness of the changes that were 
in process around her, and of which she understood so little, had 
been unable to restrain her tears at the thought of an indefinite sep- 
aration, apparently attended with disgrace to those whom she had 
regarded as parents, and with whom she had spent her life, even 
though they had made it a suffering one. 

“It has not been possible for me to understand what has hap- 
pened,” she whispered to the baroness, “but I shall see you again 
in spite of everybody.” 


232 


ALTIORA TETO. 


“I doubt it, when you know all,” replied that lady, sadly; “but 
perhaps you may, for you have a noble heart, Altiora, and are not 
to be judged like other people. Good-bye, my dear;” and Altiora 
followed Hannah down-stairs, the baron accompanying the party 
with the utmost suavity to the cab. 

* ‘ Perhaps, ” he said to Hannah, as he politely offered her his arm 
across the pavement, “there would be no objection, provided we 
both undertake to reside abroad, to my coming across to London 
alone for a few days on business?” 

“On condition that your wife never, under any circumstances, 
accompanies you, I don’t see no harm in it. But look ye here : 
you’ve got to act square right straight through this matter ” — and 
she fixed him with her eye under the gas-lamp — “old Hannah ain’t 
one to be trifled with.” 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

A JOINT CONFESSION. 

The soothing words of Hannah’s last interview with Lord Sark 
acted like balm to that nobleman’s wounded spirits. Though, 
incapable of unimpeded utterance, owing to the injuries he had re- 
ceived, his intellect, after the first few hours, had become perfectly 
clear; and the conviction which now began to force itself upon his 
mind that Stella had loved him always, and had been trifling with 
Murkle merely to save his cousin from persecution by that individ- 
ual, rendered it difficult for him to remain at ease, with the con- 
sciousness that he was separated from her loved presence only by a 
few walls and doors. During the long hours of the night, when he 
was unable to sleep from pain, he was harassed by the conflicting 
considerations which presented themselves. Could he venture to 
press for an interview with a girl who had never given him reason 
to suppose that she returned his affection, under such peculiar cir- 
cumstances? Would her sense of propriety be shocked, and would 
he place her in a position from which her natural delicacy would 
shrink? If he overrated her feelings toward him, would it not be 
subjecting them to too severe a strain to ask her to visit an object, 
blinded, disfigured, and almost incapable of speech? And might 
not the effect be to destroy the tender shoots of a sentiment which 
might be growing for him? On the other hand, Hannah spoke with 
the conviction of positive assurance; and if she was really longing 
to be with him, and only restrained from a sense of maidenly mod- 
esty, what a solace and consolation was he not losing! The result 


ALTIORA PETO. 


233 


of a night passed in restless questionings with his own mind was a 
slight increase of feverish disturbance, which the doctors were at a 
loss to account for, regard being had to the condition of the wounds. 

“Is there anything troubling you, dear?” asked his sister; “you 
seem so restless; is the pain worse?” 

“ Better,” he replied. 

“ Then what is it?” 

He gave a little moan. Then he felt that it would be better for 
him to know the worst — even that she refused to come— than this 
suspense, so he murmured “ Stella.” 

Lady Adela reported this symptom to the doctor. 

“Excuse me, my dear lady,” replied the little man; “ is he in love 
with her?” 

“I think so,” said Lady Adela, coloring slightly. 

“Then she is the very best remedy we can possibly administer — 
that is, if she returns his affection. We shall know that when we 
tell her that his lordship desires to see her. Will you kindly com- 
municate his lordship’s wishes at once?” 

Lady Adela found the girls, with Bob Alderney, in the library, 
listening to a letter which that gentleman had just received. “ Oh, 
Adela,” he said, when she returned, “ I have just heard from Heth- 
erington. I told him, you know, to see that fellow Casseroll, and do 
something about postponing that meeting of Sark’s company, which 
seems to have been the cause of this unfortunate journey. It seems 
the whole tragedy has created such a sensation, as well it might, 
that it has been decided to postpone all action for the present. So 
that’s good news. It will relieve poor Sark’s mind awfully, I’m sure. ” 

“ Would you like to be the bearer of such good news?” said Adela, 
turning to Stella. “ Sark has expressed a wish to see you; and the 
doctor urges it so strongly that I don’t think there can be any im- 
propriety in it, as it may do him so much good, poor fellow! But 
don’t go, Stella,” she added, “unless you can tell him what will 
make him happy.” 

The color rushed into Stella’s face as the desire to go to him, 
which had been growing almost uncontrollable, was at last about 
to be realized. 

“I’ll do what I can to — ” But the sentence remained unfinished, 
in consequence of the violence of the embrace which the impulsive 
Mattie felt at this moment constrained to give her. 

“Be very nice to him, darling,” she whispered, “and take care 
you don’t give him too sudden a shock when you break it to him 
you’re not me; and remember that just at the same time I shall be 
breaking it to Bob that I’m not you. Oh my ! I do feel so frightened ! 


234 


ALTIORA PETO. 


I was only giving her a little wholesome advice,” she said to Lady 
Adela, as an apology for the whisper. “Now run otf, Stella, and 
behave yourself properly;” and Lady Adela, followed by Stella, left 
the room. 

“Bob, dear,” Mattie said, when they were alone, “just feel my 
hand; isn’t it cold?” 

“It is indeed, my darling. What makes it so? Let me warm 
it,” and he carried it to his lips. 

“Sheer fright — nothing but fright. Just feel my heart, how it is 
beating.” 

Bob obeyed. “ Why, so it is, little fluttering thing!” and his arm 
unconsciously glided round her waist. 

‘ ‘ Oh, Bob ! forgive me — don’t squeeze quite so much — I have de- 
ceived you, and done very wrong. I have got a terrible confession 
to make.” At this Bob’s arm gently withdrew, and Mattie gave a 
sob. “ Oh, I feel as if I were going to faint. Hold me, Bob, or I 
shall never have the courage to tell you ; but promise first that 
you’ll love me just the same.” 

“Don’t frighten a fellow out of his life, Mattie,” said Bob, some- 
what sternly. “Of course I will love you just the same, if you 
have not done anything to be ashamed of.” 

“But I am ashamed of it — that’s just the trouble, Bob,” she said, 
and she gazed at him through brimming eyes. “ I’m a fraud. I’m 
a living lie.” 

“ Good heavens!” he ejaculated. 

“ So is Stella,” she added, solemnly. 

“Mattie, you’ll drive me mad with your self-accusations. Out 
with it, and let me know the worst. ” 

“ Well, I’m Stella, and Stella’s me.” 

Bob got seriously alarmed. “She is certainly going out of her 
mind,” he thought. 

“ Mattie, darling, am I going to lose you?” he murmured, as the 
vision of an asylum presented itself. 

“Not if I know it, dear. Of course you don’t change to Stella 
because Stella’s me; you stick to me all the same. Oh, Bob, how 
stupid you are!” 

“Well, dear, I confess I feel a little confused; try and clear your 
head a little.” 

“Clear your head, you mean. Don’t you see, if I am Stella Wal- 
ton, that I’m the great heiress, worth five millions of dollars; and 
that Stella is Mattie Terrill, not worth more than ten thousand?” 

“When did you become Stella Walton?” he asked, sti^l doubtful 
about her sanity. 


ALTIORA FETO. 


235 


“ When we first arrived in Paris we changed names, because I 
was so afraid some one might want to marry me for my money; 
and now I am afraid because I’ve got it that you won’t want to 
marry me.” 

“I shall always want to marry you, Mattie — Stella, I mean. 
Good heavens! what am I to call you? But this alters our relative 
circumstances so materially that I hardly know what to think. You 
have done very wrong, Mattie, to practise such a wicked deception, 
and place me in such a false position.” 

‘ ‘ I know it. Bob, dear, ” she sobbed, penitently. ‘ ‘ Just think how 
bad it must be for Stella. She’s telling Sark now that she’s herself 
— no — that’s she’s me; I mean, that she’s Mattie, and not Stella at 
all. Do you think he’ll mind, Bob, dear?” 

“ Well, I don’t suppose he’ll mind half as much as I do. I should 
begin to feel a fraud myself if I got all that money — as if I had 
robbed Sark. Oh, St — attie — M — ella, I mean — what a muddle and 
a mess you’ve got us all into!” 

“ Oh,” said Mattie, and she clapped her hands, “I know how to 
make it all straight. You go right away up to London and find out 
all about Sark’s money troubles, and I’ll give you as much as ever 
you want to buy up the whole of that company. We’ll buy every 
share, Bob ; and then we’ll have a meeting of contented shareholders 
— that will be you and me, with Stella for the board and Sark for 
chairman ; then we’ll scintillate the universe with electricity, declare 
dividends, and live happy ever afterward.” 

“ Well, Mattie, if you really want to divide your fortune between 
Sark and me, I suppose I must let you do it,” said Bob. ‘ ‘ That cer- 
tainly is a way out of it. I never could keep such a sum all to my- 
self ; and I can’t lose you because you happen, unfortunately, to be 
a millionnaire.” 

“If you’ve quite forgiven me, Bob, don’t you think we ought to 
make it up?” pleaded Mattie. So they made it up, and, after a 
pause, she added, “Oh, how glad I am it’s over! Poor Stella! I 
wonder how she broke it to Sark!” 

It was, indeed, with no small internal trepidation that the ap- 
parently calm and stately Stella had followed Lady Adela to her 
brother’s bedside. 

“ Here’s Stella come to see you, dear,” she said to Sark. “I have 
got some matters to attend to, so I shall leave her to take care of 
you for a little.” 

He held out his hand, and Stella, trembling with the wave of ten- 
derness and pity that seemed to flood her whole being, placed hers 
in it. 


236 


ALTIORA PETO. 


“ How kind!” he murmured. 

“I wanted to come before, but they would not let me. I have 
been so miserable, thinking how unhappy I made you; but indeed 
I did it for the best. I trusted to being able to explain matters 
later. You understand it all now, don’t you?” 

He pressed her hand. 

“And you quite forgive me?” 

As he raised it to his lips he felt that she was trembling violently. 

“You don’t know all yet. You have still something to forgive. 
Mattie and I have been very foolish. She persuaded me, before 
we left America, to change names ; and, of course, in doing so we 
changed fortunes. It was a girlish freak. She was afraid of being 
persecuted for her mone}' - , and I rather enjoyed the idea of baffling 
the fortune-hunters ; but I am really Mattie Terrill, with only £2000 
in the world. ” 

He gave a groan. Poor Stella’s heart stood still. “So, then,” 
she thought, bitterly, “he’s like the rest — he only wanted me for the 
money. ” She would have withdrawn her hand, but he held it firm- 
ly. “I was wrong,” she thought, bitterly, “not to have waited till 
he got stronger, and could have borne the shock better.” Then he 
spoke. “Darling!” was all he said; but it is amazing what a wealth 
of meaning may be compressed into a single word — what riddles it 
may solve, what suspense it may remove, what misunderstandings 
it may clear up ; and when one’s faculty of speech is limited, how 
clever one becomes at finding the right one! 

“Why do you groan, dear?” she whispered as she bent over him. 
“Are you in pain?” 

“No.” 

“You don’t doubt my love?” 

A still tighter pressure was the response. 

“Don’t try to tell me now, my own,” she cooed softly over him; 
“and, whatever happens, I am yours, if you will have me; it will 
give me the right to watch over you and nurse you ; and you must 
try and get well for my sake. Lady Adela,” she said, as that lady 
entered the room, “Mattie and I have a little secret to tell you pres- 
ently, which I have already revealed to your brother. He has given 
me the right to be his nurse now, because I am to be his wife when 
he gets well; and he is quite decided to do that for my sake. Oh, 
I know what is troubling your mind!” she exclaimed, suddenly. 
“Just think of my forgetting it till now ! But then the other matter 
was so much more important, I am sure it was no wonder. Bob has 
just got a letter from Keith Hetherington, and he says that Mr. Cas- 
seroll tells him that the meeting of the shareholders of your com- 


ALTIORA PETO. 


237 


pany is to be put off for the present. In the mean time,” added 
Stella, drawing upon her imagination, ‘ * in consequence of some de- 
velopments which you are too weak to attend to now, it is probable 
that the whole affair will be easily and satisfactorily arranged. I 
am sure I don’t know what they are,” she said to herself, “ but I 
think, under the circumstances, that was a little moral tonic which I 
was justified in administering.” 

When she rejoined Bob and Mattie she found that at the very 
moment the idea had occurred to her these new developments were 
actually in progress, for the first thing that Mattie said was, 

“Oh, Stella ! Bob and I have hit upon such a delightful way of 
solving all Sark’s pecuniary difficulties. We are going to arrange 
it all with Keith Hetherington when he comes wdtli Hannah and 
Altiora. It is a profound secret, and I can’t even tell it to you, but 
you can tell Sark that he need give himself no more concern about 
that company; it will hasten his recovery, I am sure. I had such 
trouble breaking it — you know what I mean — to Bob. We almost 
quarrelled. Did Sark take it easily, dear?” 

“Why, Mattie, you talk of ‘it' as if it was a pill; and, after all, 
you are not far wrong, for it was me he had to swallow, with the 
gilt rubbed off. Yes, dear, he gulped ‘ it’ down like a man.” 

“I’m sorry I can’t say the same for Bob. He seems to like his 
pills best without the gilt. But so long as they take them, dear, 
what does it matter what sort of faces they make over them, or 
w T hat names they call us by? They’ll soon get used to our middle 
initials. Mine is F., sir, remember, and stands for Fay. Henceforth, 
Bob, you must call me Fay.” 

“And what’s Stella’s?” asked Bob. 

“ J., which stands for Jones,” replied that young lady, laughing; 
‘ * but Sark is going to invent a much prettier one, which I will give 
you leave to call me by when we are married ” 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 
altiora’s last words. 

I have been trying to understand the relations which our natural 
ideas of time bear to the changes, both external and internal, through 
which we pass, and I find that it is absolutely impossible to estab- 
lish any correspondence between them. I believe that time hatches 
or evolves catastrophes, both moral and material, out of long periods 
of incubation. This epoch is naturally characterized by monotony. 


238 


ALT I OR A PETO. 


The storm which is to burst upon us from without brews w^e know 
not where. It gathers its forces together silently, and the lull which 
precedes it is so universally recognized that it has become a proverb. 
So the revolution which is being prepared within is unmarked by 
any conscious moral disturbance that can at all account for the 
completeness of the change when it comes. The elements at work 
are as subtle in their operation as those of external nature, and the 
sudden burst of spring upon a scene which has been locked in the 
embraces of a Canadian winter but faintly portrays the aspect of 
the soul when it awakes to the touch which is to evoke its latent 
harmonies. More than six months have now elapsed since I de- 
scribed an episode which I foolishly imagined for a day had caused 
some responsive chord in my inmost nature to vibrate, and which 
led me to listen sympathetically to the silly rhapsodies of Ronald 
Mac Alpine. The whole of my life prior to this last six months 
seems to have been the long winter of my discontent, unmarked by 
change, and concealing beneath its cold monotony the unsuspected 
elements of that revolution in the outward circumstances of my ex- 
istence, no less than in its hidden moral recesses, which has since 
overtaken me. A transformation has taken place in the external 
relations of my life, and in my most sacred affections, under the 
influence of which I seem to have blossomed into a new being. If 
I try to trace the periods of my development into these new condi- 
tions, I find the first marked change to have taken place under the 
influence of Keith Hetherington during the first week of my seclu- 
sion at Copleydale. I did not then know or suspect the nature of 
that influence as I know it now; but the soil had been prepared, 
and the seeds which the sower went forth to sow fell upon good 
ground. I am perfectly certain, after a careful internal analysis, 
that the same seed, sown a year before, would have withered. 
Some day, perhaps, I shall write something on the laws governing 
moral receptivity. They are absolutely ignored by the majority of 
seed-sow T ers; the consequence is, that the amount of seed wasted is 
something frightful to contemplate. I w r as explaining this point 
the other day to Mr. Sidney Chalfont, in whom I take a -great in- 
terest, as I observe signs of preparation in him. He said he had 
never considered the subject from this point of view, and thought 
that it was his duty to scatter the seed broadcast, and let it take its 
chance where it fell — a manifest error, arising out of his ignorance 
of the laws of receptivity. 

The next great evolutionary epoch, so far as regards the structure 
of my own internal organism, was when Aunt Hannah revealed to 
me the secret of my birth and parentage, so far as my mother was 


ALTIORA PETO. 


239 


concerned, and her own relationship to me. The rupture of the tie 
which had bound me filially to the baroness set loose within me an 
entirely new set of forces, the very existence of which had been so 
suppressed by the supposed relationship between us, that they were 
unsuspected by me. This has given rise to a very interesting series 
of considerations, as bearing upon congenital affinities. The cir- 
cumstance that I believed that the blood of the baroness coursed in 
my veins, and that I was in actual fact her own daughter, produced 
such an effect upon that part of my interior structure ignorantly 
called “imagination,” that certain abnormal and disorderly forces 
were called into operation, to the entire suppression of others prop- 
erly destined to exercise a most potent influence over my character. 
The extinction of these false forces opened the door to the evolu- 
tion and free play of those that had been latent; and that part of 
the organic interior structure in which they reside is consequently 
taking a new development. It is only within the last few days that 
I have entered upon the third period of protoplasmic change — a 
term which I venture to use, not because it means anything very 
definite to those familiar with the finer constituent elements of the 
interior organic structure, but because scientific men would not un- 
derstand any other. They will probably be ready to admit that the 
conditions of protoplasm must be modified by the emotions, and 
that the most powerful of all emotions is the affectional instinct. 
Hence, when, under the influence of Keith Hetherington’s teaching, 
I developed a new love of my species and their Maker, and deter- 
mined to devote my life to their service, a protoplasmic modification 
took place, which was still more accentuated when I was relieved 
from the violent emotional effort to which I had been subjected all 
my life, of attempting to love a woman who was not my mother, 
and when I found a near relative in the person of my Aunt Han- 
nah, upon whom my distorted or suppressed affections could be 
freely and legitimately lavished. And now, once more, the affec- 
tional instinct has been violently roused, and I am conscious of an 
internal change into new conditions being operated within me. It 
was only three days ago ; Sark had been wheeled out upon the ter- 
race to inhale the balmy spring air; it was the first day that his eye- 
sight was so far recovered that he could bear the light. Stella was 
walking by his side, her hand in his. As soon as he is well enough 
—the doctors hope in three months from now— they are to be mar- 
ried. Bob Alderney was pushing his chair, and Mattie was pre- 
tending to help him. They were married a month ago. Mattie— 
whom we now call Fay— wanted to wait till she could be married 
on the same day as Stella and Sark, but Bob was too impatient. 


240 


ALTIORA FETO. 


Aunt Hannah and I were walking some distance behind. All this 
at Copley Grange, which the Dashingtons, who' had gone abroad to 
economize, have let to the Alderneys for a year — I should not won- 
der if they were ultimately to buy it — when I saw Keith Hethering- 
ton coming toward us. Keith and Bob had been much occupied, 
during the first weeks of Sark’s illness, buying up all the shares of 
the Universal Scintillator Company with Mattie’s money, and suc- 
ceeded in winding up its affairs in the most complete manner, with- 
out Sark’s knowing anything about it until it was done. I then 
charged him to negotiate for me the purchase of Copleydale Cot- 
tage; and here Hannah and I have now arranged to take up our 
abode, when we are not staying at the Grange. Meantime, it has 
been repaired, added to, and furnished anew, under Keith’s super- 
intendence. 

“ I have just come over from the Cottage,” he said. “ The last 
van-load of furniture has arrived; it only needs the presence of the 
mistress of the house to come and set it in order.” 

“ I am afraid" my unassisted efforts,” I replied, “would shock the 
aesthetic tastes of Mr. MacAlpine.” 

* ‘ So far you will fail utterly to make it resemble an old curiosity 
shop. There is a striking absence of bric-a-brac; and you will be 
able to move about freely without fear of knocking over tables 
knee-high.” 

Let us all drive over to-morrow,” said Fay Alderney, who had 
fallen back to join us, “ and help you to consider the weighty ques- 
tion of the disposition of the tables and chairs; besides, I want to 
see that Hannah is properly cradled in the lap of luxury.” 

“ Altiora and Keithy and me ain’t a-goin’ to cradle ourselves in 
no kind of a lap,” said my aunt; “ we’ve got some work to do. I 
don’t calkilate on livin’ here reg’lar. Why, ’twas only the other 
day Altiora was a-sayin’ all she counted on was havin’ what she 
called a Peter tare.” 

“ It was to be a pied-d-terre for me, not you, aunt; it is to be your 
home.” 

My aunt looked at me in a very peculiar way when I made this 
remark. “ Keithy,” she said, “take her away and talk to her — the 
time’s come. There’s Lordy a-beckonin’ to us, Fay Alderney;” and 
Hannah rolled her darling’s new name out with great unction. 
Keith took me down the path through the shrubbery that follows 
the river-bank. 

“You know what your aunt wants me to say to you, Altiora?” 
he said, as we sat down on a rustic bench, with the stream eddying 
and gurgling at our feet. 


ALTIORA PETO. 


241 


“ Yes,” I said, “I think I can guess;” and I felt my heart beating 
and my cheeks flushing. 

“It doesn’t require any telling, does it? You’ve known it all 
along, haven’t you?” 

“ I think so,” I again said, in an undertone; “ and yet,” I added, 
in a trembling voice, “I didn’t feel quite sure.” 

“ You didn’t feel quite sure!” he exclaimed, in a surprised voice. 

“I mean I didn’t exactly know what kind it was; and,” after a 
pause, “I don’t quite know now.” 

“You mean that you have known that I have loved you almost 
ever since we first met, but that you didn’t quite know the nature of 
my love; is that what you mean to say, Altiora?” 

“Yes.” 

“ I’ve never asked you whether you have loved me, have I?” 

“No.” 

“ But you do, don’t you?” 

Here, foolishly enough, I began to tremble violently, and found it 
quite impossible to use either of the monosyllables to which I seemed 
to be confining my conversation. 

“Do you know why you can’t answer? Because you don’t ex- 
actly know the nature of your own love for me. Our love for each 
other is not a common love. That is a phrase in ordinary usage 
among lovers who wish to express by it the uncommon intensity of 
their devotion; but that is not what I mean — it is, that the nature 
of our devotion to each other is not of a common kind. Do you 
know why?” 

“ No,” I said, at last recovering my voice to that amount. 

“Because it is not based on an exclusive love for each other, 
which in its essence is a purely selfish love, but on the love of a 
common service, to which we are both dedicated: the love-current 
does not flow direct from one of us to the other, but it flows from 
God through us to humanity. Take away our love and our ser- 
vice for them, and our love for each other perishes. It is in that 
greater love that our lesser love is held and comprised until ab- 
sorbed by it. It partakes of its magnitude and acquires a force and 
intensity unknown to those who are wrapped up in each other to 
the exclusion of every interest which does not centre in themselves. 
Theirs is a love as certain to decay with time, on one side or the 
other, possibly on both sides, as ours is to grow and expand in the 
degree in which we lose ourselves in that highest love common to 
us both.” 

“ Where will our work lie?” I asked. 

“ Chiefly in the hearts of men; but it will not lie in speech, but in 

16 


242 


ALT10RA PETO. 


deeds, and they may take us anywhere. Nor would it be necessary, 
except for what the world might say, that we should marry, since 
our love is of a kind that the world knows nothing of, and depends 
on something far more internal, and therefore solid, than that which 
unites ordinary mortals. You feel that, don’t you, Altiora?” 

“Yes,” I answered; and it seemed as though, with the surren- 
dry of my life to his, our very souls had melted into each other. 
“I did not know such happiness could be felt by human beings,” 
I murmured, and placed my trembling hand in his. We sat for 
some moments in silence; but the veil which curtained the inner 
sanctuary in each seemed to have been lifted, so that we could hold 
communion without speech, and feel the divine thrills of a higher 
inspiration uplifting us in a common supplication, and a common 
dedication of our beings to mankind, and therefore to each other. 

“That was beyond the power of Church or priest,” he said, at 
last, and he pressed his lips to mine. “Now, if you like, we will 
go to Sark and Stella, and tell them that we will add our cere- 
mony to theirs.” 

Thus it was that my life culminated to its crisis; and I felt an- 
other and unseen presence by my side as, with my arm in Keith’s, 
we strolled slowly back — and I knew it was my father. “The 
time has come for you to change your name,” he seemed to say, 
“for you have sought and found.” 



THE END. 


SOME POPULAR NOVELS 

Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, Hew York. 


The Novels in this list which are not otherwise designated are in Octavo , pam- 
phlet form, and may he obtained in half-binding [ leather backs and paste- 
board sides], suitable for Public and Circulating Libraries , at 25 cents , net , 
per volume, in addition to the price of the respective works as stated below. 
The Duodecimo Novels are bound in Cloth, unless othenoise specified. 

For a Full List of Novels published by Harper & Brothers, see Harper’s 
New and Revised Catalogue, which will be sent by mail, postage prepaid, 
to any address in the United States, on receipt of nine cents. 


PRICE 

BAKER’S (W. M.) Carter Quarterman. Illustrated $ 60 

Inside: a Chronicle of Secession. Illustrated 75 

The New Timothy 12mo 1 60 

The Virginians in Texas 75 

BLACK’S A Daughter of Heth 35 

12mo 1 25 

A Princess of Thule 50 

12mo 1 25 

Green Pastures and Piccadilly 60 

12mo 1 25 

In Silk Attire 35 

12mo 1 25 

Kilmeny 35 

12mo 1 25 

Love or Marriage ? 30 

Macleod of Dare. Illustrated 12mo 1 25 

Illustrated. 8vo 60 

4to, Paper 15 

Madcap Violet 60 

12mo 1 25 

Shandon Bells. Illustrated 12mo 1 25 

Illustrated. 4to, Paper 20 

Sunrise 12mo 1 25 

4 to, Paper 15 

That Beautiful Wretch. Illustrated 12mo 1 25 

Illustrated. 4to, Paper 20 

The Maid of Killeena, and Other Stories 40 

The Monarch of Mincing-Lane. Illustrated 60 

The Strange Adventures of a Phaeton 60 

12mo 1 25 

Three Feathers. Illustrated 1 25 

White Wings. Illustrated 12mo 1 25 

4to, Paper 20 

Yolande. Illustrated 12mo 1 25 

Illustrated. 4to, Paper 20 


2 


Harper & Brothers 1 Popular Novels. 


PKIOK 

BLACKMORE’S Alice Lorraine $ 50 

Christowell 4to, Paper 20 

Clara Yaughan 4to, Paper 15 

Cradock Nowell 60 

Cripps, the Carrier 50 

Erema 50 

Lorna Doone 60 

16mo, Cloth. (In Press.) 

Mary Anerley 16mo, Cloth 1 00 

4to, Paper 15 

The Maid of Sker 50 

BENEDICT’S John Worthington’s Name 75 

Miss Dorothy’s Charge 75 

Miss Van Kortland 60 

Mr. Vaughan’s Heir 75 

My Daughter Elinor 80 

St. Simon’s Niece 60 

BULWER’S Alice 35 

A Strange Story. Illustrated 50 

12mo 1 25 

Devereux...* 40 

Ernest Mai travel’s 35 

Eugene Aram 35 

Godolphin 35 

12mo 1 60 

Harold, the Last of the Saxon Kings 60 

Kenelm Chillingly 50 

12mo 1 25 

Leila 25 

12mo 1 00 

Lucretia 40 

My Novel 75 

2 vols. 12mo 2 50 

Night and Morning 50 

Paul Clifford 40 

Pausanias the Spartan 25 

12mo 75 

Pelham 40 

Rienzi 40 

The Caxtons 50 

12mo 1 25 

The Coming Race 12mo, Paper 50 

Cloth 1 00 

The Disowned 50 

The Last Days of Pompeii 25 

4to, Paper 1 5 

The Last of the Barons 50 

The Parisians. Illustrated 60 


Harper & Brothers' Popular Novels. 


3 


BULWER’S The Parisians. Illustrated 12mo$l 50 

The Pilgrims of the Rhine 20 

What will He do with it ? 75 

Cloth 1 25 

Zanoni 35 

BRADDON’S (Miss) An Open Verdict 35 

A Strange World 40 

Asphodel 4to, Paper 15 

Aurora Floyd 40 

Barbara; or, Splendid Misery 4to, Paper 15 

Birds of Prey. Illustrated 50 

Bound to John Company. Illustrated 50 

Charlotte’s Inheritance 35 

Dead Men’s Shoes 40 

Dead Sea Fruit. Illustrated 50 

Eleanor’s Victory 60 

Fenton’s Quest. Illustrated 50 

Flower and Weed 4to, Paper 10 

Hostages to Fortune. Illustrated 50 

John Marchmont’s Legacy 50 

Joshua Haggard’s Daughter. Illustrated 50 

Just as I Am 4to, Paper 15 

Lost for Love. Illustrated 50 

Mistletoe Bough, 1878. Edited by M. E. Braddon. 4to, Paper 15 

Mistletoe Bough, 1879. Edited by M. E. Braddon. 4to, Paper 10 

Mount Royal 4to, Paper 1 5 

Publicans and Sinners 50 

Strangers and Pilgrims. Illustrated 50 

Taken at the Flood 50 

The Cloven Foot 4to, Paper 15 

The Lovels of Arden. Hlustrated 50 

To the Bitter End. Illustrated 50 

Vixen 4to, Paper 15 

Weavers and Weft 25 

BRONTE’S (Charlotte) Jane Eyre 40 

Illustrated. 12mo 1 00 

4to, Paper 15 

Shirley 50 

Illustrated. 12mo 1 00 

The Professor. Illustrated 12mo 1 00 

Villette 50 

Illustrated. 12mo 1 00 

(Anna) The Tenant of Wildfell Hall. Illustrated 12mo 1 00 

(Emily) Wuthering Heights. Illustrated 12mo 1 00 

CRAIK’S (Miss G. M.) Dorcas 4-to, Paper 15 

Mildred 30 

Anne Warwick 25 

Fortune’s Marriage 4to, Paper 20 


4 


Harper & Brothers ’ Popular Novels. 


PRIOR 

CRAIK’S (Miss G. M.) Hard to Bear $ 30 

Sydney 4to, Paper 15 

Sylvia’s Choice 30 

Two Women 4to, Paper 15 

COLLINS’S Antonina 40 

Armadale. Illustrated 60 

Man and Wife. Illustrated 60 

4to, Paper 20 

My Lady’s Money 32mo, Paper 25 

No Name. Illustrated 60 

Percy and the Prophet 32mo, Paper 20 

Poor Miss Finch. Illustrated 60 

The Law and the Lady. Illustrated 50 

The Moonstone. Illustrated 60 

The New Magdalen 30 

The Two Destinies. Illustrated 35 

The Woman in White. Illustrated .. 60 

COLLINS’S Illustrated Library Edition 12mo, per vol. 1 25 

After Dark, and Other Stories. — Antonina. — Armadale. — 

Basil. — Hide-and-Seek. — Man and Wife. — My Miscel- 


lanies. — No Name. — Poor Miss Finch. — The Dead Secret. 
— The Law and the Lady. — The Moonstone. — The New 
Magdalen. — The Queen of Hearts. — The Two Destinies. 
— The Woman in White. 

DICKENS’S NOVELS. Illustrated. 


A Tale of Two Cities... 


50 

Nicholas Nickleby ... 


1 

00 

Cloth 

1 

00 


Cloth 

1 

50 

Barnaby Budge 

1 

00 

Oliver Twist 



50 

Cloth 

1 

50 


Cloth 

1 

00 

Bleak House 

1 

00 

Our Mutual Friend... 


1 

00 

Cloth 

1 

50 


Cloth 

1 

60 

Christmas Stories 

1 

00 

Pickwick Papers 


1 

00 

Cloth 

1 

60 


doth 

1 

50 

David Copperfield 

1 

00 

4to, Paper 


20 

Cloth 

1 

50 

Pictures from Italy, Sketch- 



Dombey and Son 

1 

00 

es by Boz, and American 



Cloth 

1 

50 

Notes 


1 

00 

Great Expectations 

1 

00 


Cloth 

1 

50 

Cloth 

1 

50 

The Old Curiosity Shop 


75 

Little Dorrit 

1 

00 


Cloth 

1 

25 

Cloth 

1 

50 

The Uncommercial Traveller, 



Martin Chuzzlewit 

1 

00 

Hard Times, and 

Edwin 



Cloth 

1 

50 

Drood 


1 

00 





doth 

1 

50 


Hamper's Household Dickens, 16 vols., Cloth, in box, $22 00. 

The same in 8 vols., Cloth, $20 00 ; Imitation Half Mo- 
rocco, $22 00 ; Half Calf, $40 00. 

DE MILLE’S Cord and Creese. Illustrated 60 


Harper & Brothers' Popular Novels. 5 


PRICE 

DE MILLE’S The American Baron. Illustrated $ 50 

The Cryptogram. Illustrated 75 

The Dodge Club. Illustrated 60 

Cloth 1 10 

The Living Link. Illustrated 60 

Cloth 1 10 

DISRAELI’S (Earl of Beaconsfield) Endymion 4to, Paper 15 

The Young Duke 12mo 1 50 

4to, Paper 15 

ELIOT’S (George) Novels: 

Adam Bede. Illustrated 12mo 1 25 

Amos Barton 32mo, Paper 20 

Brother Jacob. — The Lifted Veil 32mo, Paper 20 

Daniel Deronda 50 

2 vols., 12mo 2 50 

Felix Holt, the Radical 50 

Illustrated. 12mo 1 25 

Janet’s Repentance 32mo, Paper 20 

Middlemarch 75 

Cloth 1 25 

2 vols., 12mo 2 50 

Mr. Gilfil’s Love Story 32mo, Paper 20 

Romola. Illustrated 50 

12mo 1 25 

Scenes of Clerical Life 60 

Scenes of Clerical Life and Silas Marner. 1vol. Ill’d. 12mo 1 25 

Silas Marner 12mo 75 

The Mill on the Floss 50 

Illustrated. 12mo 1 25 

GASKELL’S (Mrs.) A Dark Night’s Work 25 

Cousin Phillis 20 

Cranford 16mo 1 25 

Mary Barton 40 

4to, Paper 20 

Moorland Cottage 18mo 75 

My Lady Ludlow 20 

North and South 40 

Right at Last, &c 12mo 1 50 

Sylvia’s Lovers 40 

Wives and Daughters. Illustrated 60 

HARRISON’S (Mrs.) Helen Troy 16mo, Cloth 1 00 

Golden Rod 32mo, Paper 25 

HAY’S (M. C.) A Dark Inheritance 32mo, Paper 15 

A Shadow on the Threshold 32mo, Paper 20 

Among the Ruins, and Other Stories 4to, Paper 15 

At the Seaside, and Other Stories 4to, Paper 15 

Back to the Old Home 32mo, Paper 20 

Bid Me Discourse 4to, Paper 10 


6 


Harper dk Brothers' Popular Novels. 


PRICE 

HAY’S (M. C.) Dorothy’s Venture 4to, Paper® 15 

For Her Dear Sake 4to, Paper 15 

Hidden Perils 25 

Into the Shade, and Other Stories 4to, Paper 15 

Lady Carmichael’s Will 32mo, Paper 15 

Missing 32mo, Paper 20 

My First Offer, and Other Stories 4to, Paper 15 

Nora’s Love Test 25 

Old Myddelton’s Money 25 

Reaping the Whirlwind 32mo, Paper 20 

The Arundel Motto 25 

The Sorrow of a Secret 32mo, Paper 15 

The Squire’s Legacy 25 

Under Life’s Key, and Other Stories 4to, Paper 15 

Victor and Vanquished 25 

HUGO’S Ninety-Three. Illustrated 25 

12mo 1 75 

The Toilers of the Sea 50 

Illustrated. Cloth 1 60 

JAMES’S (Henry, Jun.) Daisy Miller 32mo, Paper 20 

An International Episode 32mo, Paper 20 

Diary of a Man of Fifty, and A Bundle of Letters 25 

32mo, Paper 25 

The four above-mentioned works in one volume Ato, Paper 25 

Washington Square. Illustrated 16mo, Cloth 1 25 

LAWRENCE’S Anteros 40 

Brakespeare 40 

Breaking a Butterfly 35 

Guy Livingstone 12mo 1 50 

4to, Paper 10 

Hagarene 35 

Maurice Dering 25 

Sans Merci 35 

Sword and Gown 20 

LEVER’S A Day’s Ride 40 

Barrington 40 

Gerald Fitzgerald 40 

Lord Kilgobbin. Illustrated 50 

Luttrell of Arran 60 

Maurice Tiernay 50 

One of Them 50 

Roland Cashel. Illustrated 75 

Sir Brook Fosbrooke 50 

Sir Jasper Carew 50 

That Boy of Norcott’s. Illustrated 25 

The Bramleighs of Bishop’s Folly 60 

The Daltons 75 

The Dodd Family Abroad 60 


Harper cfr Brothers' Popular Novels. 


1 


LEVER’S The Fortunes of Glencore $ 50 

The Martins of Cro’ Martin 60 

Tony Butler 60 

MCCARTHY’S Comet of a Season 4to, Paper 20 

Donna Quixote 4to, Paper 15 

My Enemy’s Daughter. Illustrated 50 

The Commander’s Statue 32mo, Paper 15 

The Waterdale Neighbors 35 

MACDONALD’S Alec Forbes 50 

Annals of a Quiet Neighborhood 12mo 1 25 

Guild Court 40 

Warlock o’ Glenwarlock 4to, Paper 20 

Weighed and Wanting 4to, Paper 20 

MULOCK’S (Miss) A Brave Lady. Illustrated 60 

12mo 1 25 

A French Country Family. Translated. Illustrated... 12mo 1 50 

Agatha’s Husband 35 

Illustrated. 12mo 1 25 

A Hero, &c 12mo 1 25 

A Life for a Life 40 

12mo 1 25 

A Noble Life 12mo 1 25 

Avillion, and Other Tales 60 

Christian’s Mistake 12mo 1 25 

Hannah. Illustrated 35 

12mo 1 25 

Head of the Family 50 

Illustrated. 12mo 1 25 

His Little Mother 12mo 1 25 

4 to, Paper 10 

John Halifax, Gentleman 50 

Illustrated. 12mo 1 25 

4to, Paper 15 

Mistress and Maid 30 

12mo 1 25 

Motherless. Translated. Illustrated 12mo 1 50 

My Mother and I. Illustrated 40 

12mo 1 25 

Nothing New 30 

Ogilvies 35 

Illustrated. 12mo 1 25 

Olive... .„ 35 

Illustrated. 12mo 1 25 

The Laurel Bush. Illustrated 25 

12mo 1 25 

The Woman’s Kingdom. Illustrated 60 

12mo 1 25 

Two Marriages 12mo 1 25 


8 


Harper &' Brothers' Popular Novels. 


MULOCK’S (Miss) Unkind Word, and Other Stories, 
Young Mrs. Jardine 

NORRIS’S Heaps of Money 

Mademoiselle de Mersac 

No New Thing 

OLIPHANT’S (Mrs.) Agnes 

A Son of the Soil 

Athelings 

Brownlows 

Carit£ 

Chronicles of Carlingford 

Days of My Life 

For Love and Life 

Harry Joscelyn 

He That Will Not when He May 

Innocent. Illustrated 

It was a Lover and His Lass 

John: a Love Story 

Katie Stewart 

Lady Jane 

Lucy Crofton 

Madonna Marv 

Miss Marjoribanks 

Mrs. Arthur 

Ombra 

Phoebe, Junior 

Sir Tom 

Squire Arden 

The Curate in Charge 

The Fugitives 

The Greatest Heiress in England 

The House on the Moor 

The Ladies Lindores 

The Laird of Norlaw 

The Last of the Mortimers 

The Minister’s Wife 

The Perpetual Curate 

The Primrose Path 

The Quiet Heart 

The Story of Valentine and his Brother 

Within the Precincts 

Young Musgrave 

PAYN’S (James) A Beggar on Horseback 

A Confidential Agent 

A Grape from a Thorn 

A Woman’s Vengeance 


PRICE 

12mo$l 25 

12mo 1 25 

4to, Paper 10 

15 

,..4to, Paper 20 
..4to, Paper 25 

60 

50 

60 

50 

60 

60 

12mo 1 50 

50 

..4to, Paper 20 
..4to, Paper 15 

50 

..4to, Paper 20 

25 

20 

..4to, Paper 10 

12mo 1 50 

50 

50 

40 

50 

35 

,..4to, Paper 20 

50 

20 

..4to, Paper 10 
. .4to, Paper 15 

12mo 1 50 

16mo, Cloth 1 00 
4to, Paper 20 

12mo 1 50 

12mo 1 50 

50 

50 

50 

20 

50 

...4to, Paper 15 

40 

35 

...4to, Paper 15 
...4to, Paper 20 
35 


Harper & Brothers ’ Popular Novels. 


9 


PAYN’S (James) At Her Mercy $ 

Bred in the Bone 

By Proxy 

Carlyon’s Year 

Cecil’s Tryst 

For Cash Only 4to, Paper 

Found Dead 

From Exile 4to, Paper 

Gwendoline’s Harvest 

Halves 

High Spirits 4to, Paper 

Kit. Illustrated 4to, Paper 

Less Black than We’re Painted 

Murphy’s Master 

One of the Family 

The Best of Husbands 

Thicker than Water 16mo, Cloth. ( Just Ready.) 

4to, Paper. {Just Ready.) 

Under One Roof 4 to, Paper 

Walter’s Word 

What He Cost Her 

Won — Not Wooed 


PRICE 

5 30 
40 
35 
25 
30 
20 
25 
15 
25 
30 
15 
20 
35 
20 
25 
25 


15 

50 

40 

35 


READE’S Novels : Household Edition. Ill’d 12mo, per vol. 1 00 


A Simpleton and the Wander- 
ing Heir. 

A Terrible Temptation. 

A Woman-Hater. 

Foul Play. 

Griffith Gaunt. 

Hard Cash. 


It is Never Too Late to Mend. 
Love me Little, Love me Long. 
Peg Woffington, Christie John- 
stone, &c. 

Put Yourself in His Place. 

The Cloister and the Hearth. 
White Lies. 


READE’S (Charles) A Hero and a Martyr 15 

A Simpleton 35 

A Terrible Temptation. Illustrated 40 

A Woman-Hater. Illustrated 60 

Foul Play 35 

Griffith Gaunt. Illustrated 40 

Hard Cash. Illustrated 50 

It is Never Too Late to Mend 50 

Love Me Little, Love Me Long 35 

Multum in Parvo 4to, Paper 15 

Peg Woffington, &c 50 

Put Yourself in His Place. Illustrated 50 

The Cloister and the Hearth 50 

The Jilt 32mo, Paper 20 

The Wandering Heir. Illustrated 25 

White Lies 40 


HARFEKSfclBB 


YOUNG PEOPLE 


lll||Kjffi AN I 11 ' 1 I LLU S T RATE I> ;l „ WEEKLY. 


“the best periodical for JUVENILE READERS.” 

Every Boy and Girl should have it. 


Harper’s Young People delights the youth of both sexes, and of 
every age. Every young person finds amusement and instruction in its 
varied and excellent reading. The engravings and typography are unsur- 
passed in merit, attractiveness, and artistic finish. 

Harper’s Young People, without “preachiness,” is the best help of 
the parent and teacher, exerting a refining and ennobling influence through 
its entertaining stories, anecdotes of travel, biographical sketches, scientific 
articles, etc. 

A leading journal says: “The villanous trash, the penny-dreadful ‘boys’ 
and girls’ papers,’ at one time so popular and so numerous, have nearly 
all, thank fortune, been driven from the field by the introduction of pub- 
lications for the young which are just as cheap, and perfectly healthful 
and wholesome. This good work of reform was led by the Harpers of 
New 7 York, with their handsome Young People.” 

Boys will find in its pages entertaining descriptions of different ath- 
letic sports and popular out-door amusements; and girls will be interested 
in the directions for making dolls, dolls’ clothing, embroidery, crocheting, 
etc. A valuable feature of the periodical is the Post-Office Box, which 
affords to the young readers an opportunity to correspond with the Post- 
mistress and with each other, thus adding in many ways to their stock of 
information, and giving them ease and familiarity in the use of language. 

SUBSCRIPTION PRICE, - - - $1 50 per Year. 


HARPER & BROTHERS* Franklin Square, New York. 


SUBSCRIBE FOR THE BAZAR AND SAVE MONEY AT HOME. 
No Family should be without it. 


Harper’s Bazar is the woman’s paper, the paper for the home. Its 
' Pattern Sheet Supplements alone, of which between twenty and thirty 
[ are issued each year, will enable any lady of moderate means to dress 
; tastefully and fashionably, and to save much more than the price of sub- 
scription, by furnishing her with the latest patterns of ladies’ and children’s 
[ dresses, wraps, etc. Each Supplement contains a dozen, or more, patterns 
( for which no extra charge is made. 

All subjects that pertain to the realm of domestic economy are treated 
from time to time in the columns of Harper’s Bazar: Cookery for 
the well and the sick ; the management of servants ; the best methods of 
regulating , the necessary expenses of the family; social etiquette and 
usages ; gardening, etc. Ladies will find in it practical instructions which 
will aid them materially in remodelling their dresses, refurnishing their 
houses tastefully and cheaply, and in economizing in various other direc- 
tions. 

In literary and artistic merit, Harper’s Bazar is unapproached by any 
journal of its class ; its stories, sketches, and other articles being furnished 
by the best writers of America and Europe, while its superb wood en- 
gravings are marvels of perfect execution. 

SUBSCRIPTION PRICE, - - - $4 00 per Year. 


HAEPEE & BEOTHEES, Franklin Square, New York, 


. 


\ 



* 



• : 




% 




* 


* 




s 







s 


0 

i 

























• < 



-rtf 


















j *■ ~ • 




i 


























> 






























■ • 








' 




I 


' 



































